


The Heart of the Moon

by Iturbide



Series: Accursed Divine [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Because everything I do is slow build let's be real, East of the Sun and West of the Moon Elements, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Slow Build, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-09-26 22:57:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9927845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iturbide/pseuds/Iturbide
Summary: Something stalks the forests south of Ylisstol.  A nightmare made real, with too many burning eyes and jagged teeth.  At the behest of his sister, Prince Chrom goes to face the beast...and finds far more than he imagined in the dark woods.  A young woman seeks escape from the monster that has made her a prisoner -- but those words hide a terrible truth that may tear two nations apart.A Fire Emblem: Awakening adaptation of the Norwegian fairy tale 'East of the Sun and West of the Moon.'





	1. What Lies in Shadow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AcquaSole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole/gifts).



> Before anyone panics, the monster is not on hiatus or on hold, the next chapter is in progress. But I literally wrote this in a two day frenzy and need to put it somewhere. 
> 
> I love fairy tales. I always have. But there are two that hold a special place in my heart. The first is The Grimm Brothers' _The Golden Bird_ (and it's Russian variant, _Tsarevitch Ivan, the Firebird, and the Grey Wolf_ ), which long ago got me started on a fairy tale re-imagining kick...but the second, and arguably my favorite fairy tale of all time, is _East of the Sun and West of the Moon_. 
> 
> That story is pretty much everything I love in fiction. Human drama. Mistakes with good intentions. Trust forged and broken. People fighting against their fate -- and in their darkest hour, when they've lost all hope, their loved ones fighting on for their sake. 
> 
> So how could I _not_ try to fit that narrative to Fire Emblem?
> 
> This story is my homage to AcquaSole's wonderful imagining of the Awakening world. I've done my best to honor her headcanons as best I can (with a couple of my own touches here and there, because Grimmer is my favorite slur), so I really hope I haven't messed anything up too badly ~~please let me know if I have and I can make corrections and updates going forward~~.
> 
> If you like this story, please go read AcquaSole's works. Not only is she a wonderful person, but her stories are lovely, and this whole thing came about because we got to talking about her Fire Emblem fairy tale crossovers. And if you don't like this story...well, that you can take up with me.
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> _Now with a beautiful cover plate drawn by[knightofiris](http://knightofiris.tumblr.com)! Go check her out, all her art is lovely!_

Chrom strode through the grand foyer of Ylisstol Palace and tried to settle his nerves. It wasn’t often that Emmeryn called him to an audience. 

And every time before, it had always meant trouble.

He sensed the castle staff bustling around him, pausing to bow as he passed by. But he had no time or attention for them. Things seemed busier than usual today -- or perhaps he’d been spending too much time in Ferox, and had forgotten how things worked in the halidom. Whatever the case, the constant activity at the edges of his awareness did nothing to reassure him. 

The guards stationed before the throne room bowed and stood aside as the prince approached. Two steps inside and he had to stop, momentarily dazzled by the sunlight pouring through the windows. Blinking to clear his vision, Chrom took a few more hesitant steps, hoping to avoid tripping on the stairs--

“Welcome home, Chrom.”

He smiled, bowing low as the exalt’s steps approached. “It’s good to be back, Emm.”

She embraced him, and he returned it gratefully. He’d been gone too long. But everything fell back into place as his sister turned her smile on him. “Have you been well?”

“As well as can be expected,” he shrugged. Personally, he was not one to complain about a nice roasted bear for dinner -- but Lissa and Frederick seemed to have different expectations. “You wanted to see me?”

Emmeryn’s smile faded somewhat as she stepped back, folding her hands in front of her. “Yes. Though I wish it were to discuss more pleasant matters.”

Just as he’d expected. “What is it?”

“We’ve been hearing more and more about Plegian raiders attacking villages near the border,” the exalt explained, moving toward the windows looking out on the gardens.

“They’ve been bothering the Feroxis, too,” the prince muttered, walking alongside her. He hadn’t wanted to mention that the Shepherds had skirmished with a few rogues on the way south from the Longfort -- but apparently his sister already knew.

“We need to do something to protect the people,” Emmeryn said. “We cannot let them suffer further -- not after all they’ve endured.”

“The Shepherds will see to it,” he assured her, resting his hand on Falchion’s hilt.

“Thank you, Chrom.” So much for resting after their march...but if it could ease some of Emmeryn’s burden, they would soldier on. He turned to leave--

“There is...one more concern.”

He paused, glancing back at the exalt. The light playing off her crown cast a warm halo around her -- but her troubled expression somehow overshadowed it. “What is it?”

“There have been reports...rumors,” she amended. “A few people from Southtown requested an audience some days ago, speaking of...something in the woods around the village. Some kind of great beast, perhaps a bear, or…they’ve not seen it, but they are afraid. It might attack them. And with the people already so concerned about the rising tensions along the border…”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he chuckled. “We’ll roast it for supper once it’s been dealt with.”

And yet, his sister did not seem reassured. He followed her gaze down to her folded hands, watched her lace and unlace her fingers. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “It’s just an animal…”

“...they do not speak of it as a mere animal,” she murmured. “They say it stalks them, just out of sight. It watches them when they venture into the forest. Whatever manner of beast it is, it...does not behave as a mere animal would. As an animal _should._ Please...be careful, Chrom.”

He smiled, reaching for her hand. “It’ll be fine, Emm. We’ll take care of it.”

Bowing her head, the exalt folded her fingers around his. “Promise me? That you will take care?”

...he sobered, touching his sister’s shoulder. “I swear.”

When she finally turned her face to him again, some small measure of cheer had returned. “Thank you. Please, rest at least for the day -- and I hope you and Lissa will join me for supper, before you set off? It’s been so long since we’ve had time to catch up...”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Chrom chuckled. “I’ll give the others warning that we march at dawn.”

Her smile returned as she released his hands, touching his arm as she moved toward the throne. He mirrored it before he turned, making his way back into the halls of the palace...and with every step, he felt it fade, his brow knitting even as he stepped onto the bright grounds and started toward the garrison. 

What had her so troubled about that tale? It was just a beast. Something normal, twisted by the fears of the people into something monstrous. They would dispatch it soon enough. And perhaps then, at last, they would all finally be able to rest.

\-----

The Plegians near Themis gave them some trouble when they tried to make off with the duke’s daughter. Luckily, the Shepherds managed to head the brigands off at the halidom’s western border, dispatching them before they could cross into the Mad King’s lands. That, at least, would give Emmeryn one less thing to worry about.

From there, they made their way toward the aptly named village of Southtown. Marching down the forest road leading to the sea, the Shepherds remained in high spirits, boasting and bantering about anything that came to mind. Soon enough, they’d have the beast problem settled and head back to Ylisstol for some well-deserved rest.

...and yet, as the road narrowed and the trees drew close, forcing them into tight formation, a prickle of unease set Chrom’s nerves on edge. The villagers insisted that it stalked them out of sight. Watched them. 

Was it watching them now?

The prince shook his head. He couldn’t let rumors get him riled up. It was just an animal. Nothing more. 

Southtown appeared busy when they arrived. But nothing else felt quite right about the scene. The villagers scurried through the streets, speaking no more than a terse word to one another as they crossed paths -- and touching small charms whenever their glances strayed toward the forest. The nervous energy just tightened the sick sense of unease in his chest. 

But he would not let their fears cloud his reason. “Speak to everyone you can,” he said, turning toward the Shepherds. “I’ll meet with the village headman and we’ll get this sorted out.”

“I suggest we all meet at the church when the bell next tolls,” Frederick offered.

“Good idea. Go to it.”

The Shepherds scattered through the streets. He saw Sully descend on a lumberjack with a cartload of firewood while Vaike sidled up to a fidgety young woman at the edge of the town square, but the rest were quickly lost in the crowd as Chrom and Lissa turned to the village meeting hall with Frederick close behind.

The assembly within fell silent as the doors opened. All eyes turned to the prince and princess as they stepped inside -- and a hushed murmur of excitement swept through the hall as recognition took hold. An elderly man with thick, greying brows hobbled forward, bowing low over his cane in greeting. “It’s an honor to have you with us, milord,” he wheezed. “How can we serve you?”

“We come on behalf of Exalt Emmeryn,” Chrom replied. “We are here to rid your forests of the beast that stalks them.”

Silence met his words. 

Glancing out over the crowd, he saw a number of men and women touch the odd charms he’d seen on the streets earlier. Several of those without the trinkets looked smug, but the overall atmosphere of the room had not lightened. If anything, he seemed to have made it worse. 

That prickle of unease returned. Only now it bore thorns. 

“What can you tell us about it?” he asked, glancing at Frederick as the great knight placed a hand on Lissa’s shoulder to keep her from wandering off. 

At that, the room exploded. First everyone speaking to him, and then everyone yelling at one another. They would get nowhere fast this way. “Frederick?”

“Of course, milord.” The great knight cleared his throat, but no one seemed to notice. He tried again, louder, with similar effect. The princess giggled behind her hands as Frederick’s brow furrowed -- and even Chrom had to admit, it was rather entertaining to watch the great knight getting frustrated--

_“ENOUGH!”_

Both royals jumped at Frederick’s roar. The rest of the assembly cowed before the great knight as he folded his arms stiffly behind his back. “Please. One at a time.”

The warning was not lost on anyone. 

A young woman stepped up out of the crowd, worrying at the pendant at her throat. “It...it came several months ago. Just before the Plegians started comin’ over. Ain’t ever seen it, but we know it’s there. It’s watchin’ over us.”

“Horseshit,” a man snorted. “Sizin’ us up fer dinner’s all it is.”

“Ain’t had a Plegian raid ‘round hereabouts yet,” another argued. “How d’ya explain that, if it ain’t keepin’ us safe?”

“Once it’s outta Grimmers it’ll come fer us, mark my words.”

“What about the huntin’? An’ the offerin’s?”

“Offerings?” Lissa repeated. 

“Some’a these superstitious louts’ve been leavin’ things fer the damn beast,” someone grumbled. 

“Food, mostly,” an older woman agreed gently. “The hunters swear it’s flushed game for them, and they leave a piece of the catch behind for it. There’s a clearing, deep in the woods, where others go to leave things...flowers, pasties, sweets, effigies, charms, oh, all manner of things...and they’re always gone whenever they go back.”

“Bunch’a gullible wastrels, gettin’ conned by thieves an’ lowlifes -- whatever’s out there, it ain’t nothin’ but a wild animal, an’ you lot’re gonna get somebody killed, feedin’ it like that.”

The discussion rapidly devolved back into bickering. Chrom could feel Frederick’s patience thinning as the arguments grew more heated around them -- but thankfully, the tolling of the bell in the square outside prevented any further outbursts. Retreating from the building, the prince led them toward the church spire to meet the few Shepherds that had already arrived. And as the rest came together, their words clashed nearly as much as the debate from the council hall. 

It was a guardian spirit. It was a demon come to steal their souls. It protected them. It hunted them. They would be in danger without it. They were in danger with it. 

But everyone -- even those who seemed to revere it -- spoke of it with fearful respect. 

“What do you propose we do now, milord?” Frederick asked. “We’ve little time before nightfall, and I would caution against hunting after dark when we know so little about our quarry.”

“We can at least try to get a sense of what we’re dealing with,” the prince replied. “They said there’s a clearing where they leave offerings. If it really is going there, we might be able to figure out what it is by the traces it’s left.”

“As you say, milord. In that case, I will secure a guide for us.” The great knight inclined his head slightly before moving to accost a group of woodsmen at the edge of the square. 

“Any guess what it is yet?” Sully asked, leaning against the wall beside him. 

“Gods only know,” Chrom muttered. “It could be a wolf. Maybe even a small pack. Whatever it is has been smart enough not to come into the village or attack the people. And I think a bear would be more obvious.”

“I’d think wolves would be fuckin’ obvious,” the cavalier snorted. “What with the howling, an’ all.”

“You have a point there,” the prince chuckled. “Nobody’s said anything about howling, so--”

“P-pardon me, milord.”

Chrom glanced down at the child that had crept up beside him, her eyes turned down to the stones under their feet. Smiling gently, the prince knelt before her, folding his hands on his knee. “What is it?”

For a moment, the girl said nothing, rocking back and forth on her heels as she looked at everything but Chrom. He waited patiently, his smile only growing the longer she fretted. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “You can say whatever you want, and I’ll listen.”

At last, she met his eye, a shy smile flitting across her face. “Uhm. Y-you’re going in the woods, aren’cha?”

“We are,” he agreed. “We’re going to keep you safe, and get rid of the thing out there in the forest.”

“W-we owe ya our lives, milord,” she mumbled, fretting with her skirts again. “But you gots ta be careful, too. It’s scary out there, with it watchin’ ya. S-so...so...t-this is for you, m-milord.”

She put out her hand, her fingers fisted tight around something. And as he held his open palm out to her, she dropped a small charm into it. “What is it?” he asked, holding it up to the light. It didn’t seem like much to his eye: a bit of clear stone on a leather cord, catching the dying sun and scattering rainbows across the cobbled street. 

“It’s a protection charm,” she explained. “To keep ya safe from it. The beast don’ like the light.”

He smiled at her and bowed his head. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I’ll keep it close.”

The child’s face lit up as he fixed it to the clasp of his cape. And as Frederick clanked his way back toward them, she gave her best bow and scampered off to join the gaggle of other girls hiding just around the corner. 

“Looks like somebody’s got an admirer,” Sully chuckled. 

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to wear it,” he shrugged, taking to his feet as the great knight returned. “Any luck?”

“This gentleman will escort us as far as the edge of the clearing,” Frederick replied, gesturing to the man beside him (who, Chrom noticed, toyed fretfully with his own piece of clear stone).

“We appreciate your courage,” the prince assured him. Though it didn’t seem to comfort their guide. 

They left the town through the northern gate, following not the road toward Ylisstol but a small footpath striking deeper into the wilds. The Shepherds were forced to walk in single file as the brush closed in around them, blocking out what sunlight remained as the afternoon wore on.

And with a sudden chill, he knew they were not alone. 

He hadn’t believed it when Emmeryn spoke of the rumors. Or even when the villagers did. But he sensed something in the dark woods. Something large, moving noiselessly through the litter covering the forest floor. 

And by the sudden hush that fell over the Shepherds, he knew they felt it, too. 

They continued in silence, narrowing the distance between one another until they very nearly tripped over each other as they wound through the trees. And when their guide held up his hand to call a stop, they clustered tight together, hands hovering near weapons as they waited for something to emerge from the dark. 

Nothing did. 

“This is as far as I go,” the woodsman said, his voice shaking as he stepped aside for the Shepherds. 

“Thank you,” the prince replied. The man nodded, watching as they passed by him -- and when Chrom turned back, the man had already fled. 

‘Clearing’ seemed a poor word to describe the empty space that met them. There were no trees, true -- but there was only the faintest trace of sunlight, too, fighting its way through the interwoven branches overhead. And even that light only made the shadows look darker.

“Chrom?”

He glanced down as Lissa huddled close beside him. “Chrom, I really don’t like it here,” she whispered. “Can we go back? Please?”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he insisted, trying to ignore that feeling of unease crawling across his shoulders. “Spread out. See if you can find anything.”

The Shepherds complied, striking off in groups of two and three to search the edges of the grove. Wrapping his arm comfortingly around his sister’s shoulders, the prince moved to the center of the open space, looking over the scattered baskets that had been left on the stump there. Some were empty -- but not savaged. As though something had simply carried off the contents. No claw marks, no bites...there were slight disturbances in the leaves where something had walked, but the light was too poor to see--

“Chrom?”

“What is it, Lissa?”

_“Chrom?”_

“What--”

He lifted his head in time to see the shadow separate from the darkness at the far end of the clearing. Not a bear. Not a wolf. 

A nightmare. 

The beast stalked toward them as the Shepherds fell back to the center of the grove, clustering into what few dim patches of sunlight remained. But the prince found he could not move, transfixed by the monster’s six glowing violet eyes and maw of ragged teeth. 

He felt Lissa clutch his arm. The stone fixed to his clasp sparkled in the sun, blinding him for just an instant -- but in that moment, the spell broke. Pushing his sister behind him, Chrom drew Falchion from the sheath at his side, brandishing it at the creature skulking through the gloom. “Whatever you are, turn back now.”

His voice, at least, sounded far steadier than he felt. 

The monster opened its jaws. 

And it laughed, a terrible sound that shook the prince to his core. He stepped back, keeping Lissa behind him and trying not to let them stray from the circle of sunlight that might well be their only defense--

**“Who among you is brave enough to face the hunt?”**

Its voice made the leaves shake and fall from the branches overhead. It stopped just out of reach of their weapons, staring at them through the gloom with six unblinking eyes.

No one moved. No one spoke. No one seemed to breathe as they stared at the beast before them, and felt it watching them in turn.

The creature lowered its head. Hands tightened on arms, and the Shepherds tensed, ready to engage--

**“Night comes.”**

It turned. And then it slid through the shadows, an inky silhouette against the darkness. 

**“Choose your bravest. Your strongest. Let them face the hunt.”**

And then the gloom swallowed it, leaving no trace.

\-----

The Shepherds did not flee the clearing. But it was a very near thing. Their retreat was just shy of chaotic, and Chrom suspected that the only reason they maintained any kind of order was because the footpath was too narrow for them to shove past one another.

But they made it back to the village unharmed, just as the last color of sunset left the sky. And no one complained when Chrom led them to the village tavern and ordered a round of drinks for everyone. 

No one said much of anything for a while as they nursed their stout. Even Lissa, who usually preferred sweeter liqueurs, made good progress on her pint as they tried to process exactly what they’d seen in the forest. 

The eyes were the worst. He could still see them, burning through the dark behind his lids. 

“What was that thing?”

He’d never heard Sully sound so shaken. 

“I don’t know,” the prince muttered. 

“A nightmare,” Lissa whispered. 

“What’re we gonna do about it? We can’t just...leave that thing out there,” Vaike grumbled. For all his bravery, Chrom could see that he was still gripping his axe.

“What do you think it meant? About the hunt?” Stahl asked.

“I would imagine it intends to hunt us,” Frederick growled. “We cannot rise to its taunt--”

“What happens if we don’t, though?” Chrom asked. “It challenged us. If we don’t meet it, that thing might go after the villagers.”

“That’s precisely why we came, isn’t it, milord?” the great knight asked. “To prevent it from harming the people -- but we cannot keep them safe if we throw ourselves into danger.”

“What’re we gonna do, play nursemaid for everybody goin’ out there?” Vaike asked. 

“We can’t cover everyone,” Chrom muttered. “And we can’t keep them confined here.”

_Choose your bravest. Your strongest._ Those words still echoed in his skull. Why did they have to _choose?_ Unless…

...it only wanted one.

“I’ll go.”

“Milord?” 

“It only wants one of us. It told us to pick someone. So I’ll go.”

“Chrom, you can’t--”

“I must protest, milord--”

“The _fuck_ are you even thinking!?”

The rest of their protests swirled around him, a dull hum of noise overwhelmed by the monster’s voice. He took another draft of his pint, threw back the last dregs…

...and slammed the flagon down onto the table, silencing the Shepherds and much of the tavern.

“It only wants one of us,” he repeated. “The rest of you need to protect Southtown. If it thinks I’ll be easy prey, it’s in for a surprise when I turn Falchion on it.”

“It would be better if I went in your place, Milord,” Frederick insisted. 

“No. You need to protect Lissa.”

“I can take care of myself,” she mumbled, twisting her hands in her apron. But no one seemed to believe it. Not even her. 

“I won’t put your lives at risk. I can take care of myself in a fight, and I _need_ you to protect these people. ...that’s an order.”

Silence met his command. But that hardly surprised him. 

“Please reconsider, milord,” the great knight pleaded. “At least take the night to give it thought before rushing into danger.”

“...fine,” the prince sighed. “We’ll discuss this further in the morning.”

But Chrom had made up his mind. And no matter how Frederick protested, the night would not change it.

\-----

Chrom woke with the solemn understanding that he would face death today.

And as any soldier would, he made his peace, said his prayers to Naga, and rose to meet it. 

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Conversations were limited to simple things: how did you sleep, pass the eggs, stop hogging the butter. No one touched on the events of the day before. No one raised the question he knew lurked on all their minds. 

But he felt them watching. Waiting for him to speak. 

He tried not to think that the meal before him might be his last. Of what it would do to Emm and Lissa if he didn’t come back. Of six eyes glowing out of the dark trees. 

He didn’t do well at any of those things. 

Rising from his place at the head of the table, the prince moved out onto the busy street leading to the northern gate. The Shepherds followed after him without a word. And as they reached the edge of the forest, Chrom stopped, staring at the narrow path leading through the trees. 

“Have you made a decision, milord?” Frederick asked. Not that he needed to ask, given the resignation heavy in his voice. 

“I’m going.”

Lissa took his hand and held it tight. “Please don’t,” she whimpered. 

“I have to.”

“No you don’t!” she protested, shaking her head fiercely. “You _don’t_ have to! Stay here, we can figure out something together--”

“Lissa.”

She stopped, biting her lip as tears welled up in her eyes. “You’re gonna come back, right?”

Chrom mustered up a smile as he pulled his sister into a hug. “Of course I will. I’ll be back before you can even start missing me.”

She managed a weak laugh as she returned his embrace. “W-well, you better hurry up, then, ‘cause I’m starting to miss you already.”

“You just think you do,” he teased. “Soon enough you’ll be glad I’m out of your hair.”

She didn’t rise to the jab. Instead she pulled away, sniffling and scrubbing at her eyes with the hem of her sleeve. And when he turned to go, she caught his hand again. “I’m going with you.”

“Lissa--”

“If milady goes, then I believe I’m under orders to accompany her,” the great knight remarked. 

“Not you, too, Frederick--”

“Well, pretty sure we’re supposed to stick with the commander,” Sully added. “And if the commander’s goin’, then…”

Chrom ran one hand through his hair. But deep down, he couldn’t say he was disappointed. With their support buoying him up...he felt he could face death. And perhaps, if he was careful, even meet it and escape with his life. 

They made their way along the narrow road in silence, with the prince in the lead and his sister close behind, still holding tight to his hand as she had when they were much younger. The woods grew darker even as the sun climbed high overhead -- and as the brush pressed close around them, he swore he sensed something watching them from the shadows. 

But the Shepherds did not slow their march. And when they reached the clearing, they fanned out into the patchy light, keeping close watch on the far side of the grove where the monster had disappeared the night before. 

Chrom approached the stump, glancing down at the empty bowls and baskets arranged on and around it. Whoever was taking the offerings, it couldn’t have been the creature -- the wicked fangs he’d seen in the light of its eyes would have torn the villagers’ gifts apart, along with whatever held them…

The shadows stirred in the distance. The prince lifted his head, gently pushing Lissa behind him again (though she still did not release his hand). And all around him, the Shepherds tensed for battle. 

Its eyes appeared first, glowing spots of violet flame in the darkness. And then its body slid out of the brush, unnervingly lithe for something so large. But this time, Chrom was ready. The nightmare would not take him by surprise again. 

It stopped outside the light, six unblinking eyes fixed on his face. 

**“Have you chosen?”**

The prince stepped forward, his hand slipping out of Lissa’s fingers as the great knight held her back. “I will face the hunt.”

For all his bravery, his voice sounded small compared to the beast’s rumbling growl. But even as the creature’s jaws opened in a twisted grin, he felt no fear. 

**“Then let the hunt begin.”**

Chrom drew Falchion effortlessly from its sheath--

And the creature turned and bounded into the darkness. 

Looking back, the prince saw confusion on the rest of the Shepherds’ faces. They stood, holding their weapons at the ready, prepared for an attack from any direction-- 

No time for that. 

“Go back to the village,” he ordered. “Guard the people. I’ll be back soon.”

“It could be a trap,” Frederick warned, his hand tight on Lissa’s shoulder. “Take care, milord.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” the princess added, twisting the staff in her hands. “I’m not gonna be there to patch you up this time.”

“I’ll try not to make too much of a mess,” he promised. 

And then he turned and followed the monster into the dark.

\-----

The nightmare’s hunt was nothing like Chrom had imagined.

He had expected that he would be the quarry, fighting to escape the creature’s fangs and claws in the darkness. And there were moments, as its presence circled around him in the overgrowth, that he expected it would pounce from somewhere, try to rake the sword from his hands and rip his throat out with its ragged teeth…

...but each time, the rustling of the brush receded.

The prince gave chase, his heart pounding as he struggled through the murky woods. How that monster could move so easily through the thorns was beyond him -- but he knew, with the same grim certainty that he’d woken with, that the only reason he could follow the beast at all was because it _let_ him. 

The trees began to thin. The shadows lightened as he cut his way through a bramble thicket, pausing at the edge to catch his breath and get his bearings. Nothing familiar. Not that it surprised him. Whatever this hunt was, the monster wanted him isolated from any kind of aid.

He felt his confidence waver as he made his way out of the thorny scrub. The woods were clearer here, patches of sunlight playing across the forest floor -- but the light had gone red with the approach of sunset, slanting through the leaves above. 

And worse still, he could not sense the creature’s presence. 

Tightening his grip on Falchion’s hilt, the prince picked his way from tree to tree. It must have left some sign if it passed, and now that there was light enough to see, maybe he could track it…

...but why would it leave the dark? Why lead him somewhere open?

Unless this was part of the trap.

He needed to find cover. And quickly, before he lost any more daylight. 

As he made his way to the edge of the forest, Chrom paused. An old castle -- small, covered in ivy, but in surprisingly good condition -- sat at the bottom of the hill, overlooking a narrow lake. That would probably be his best option. Making his way down the rise, the prince picked his way through the crumbling gate, navigated the wild gardens that had taken over the courtyard, and slid through the heavy doors as the last light left the sky. 

Keeping his back to the wall, Chrom navigated the halls by touch alone, keeping his sword close at hand. There was always the possibility that the monster lurked here, somewhere -- but the enclosed passages gave him the advantage now. After working his way around two small side rooms and what he imagined must have once functioned as a formal sitting room, he finally stumbled across a winding stairway leading up to the next floor. Narrow, too, with barely enough space for him to stretch his arm across. He’d be surprised if the beast could follow him by this path. 

Arrowslits lined the wall at the top of the stairs, letting in thin bands of light as the moon rose over the trees beyond. Keeping his back to the far wall, Chrom made his way down the corridor, keeping watch for any break in the glow-- 

Something moved further down the hall. 

In an instant, he had Falchion at the ready. “Come no closer, monster!”

The laughter that met his words was not the nightmare’s terrible rumbling. “As you wish,” a gentle voice replied. 

And then the steps moved away. 

“W-wait!”

Hurrying down the passage, the prince saw something darker than the surrounding shadows moving ahead of him. Distinctly human in shape, smaller than himself. And when it spoke, it had sounded feminine. What was a woman doing here? “Where are you going?” he asked. 

“Well, you said come no closer, so I’m going away.”

“I didn’t mean -- there’s a monster around, you’re not safe--”

“Oh, don’t worry,” the voice laughed. “The beast is sleeping for the night.”

He stopped, but the steps continued on. “You saw it?”

“Yes,” she agreed softly.

Chrom shook his head, striding forward to catch up with the woman before she disappeared. “You’re not safe here. Come with me, there’s a town not far from here where you’ll be safe--”

“I can’t.”

He frowned, measuring his steps to keep pace with her. “Why?”

“Because it doesn’t matter where I go. It will come for me at dawn.”

“...you’re its prisoner?”

The shadow did not answer. 

“...I’ll find a way to free you.”

The figure paused. And then turned to him, though he could see no features through the dark. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you need help,” he replied simply. “Isn’t that enough?”

He got the sense that the shadow smiled at him. “I suppose it is.”

She resumed her easy pace, and he walked beside her, carefully sheathing the sword at his side. “May I ask your name?” he said. 

“...you may,” she agreed. 

A grin twitched at the corner of his mouth. “What is your name?”

“Robin,” the woman replied easily. “And yours, sir knight?”

“Chrom.”

“Well, Sir Chrom, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she remarked, stepping aside as they came to a doorway. “But it’s late, and I imagine you’re tired. This place has certainly seen better days, but there’s a bed through here that you’re welcome to--”

“Where will you sleep?” he asked. 

“Oh, I’ll find a place--”

“I’m not taking a lady’s bed from her!” he protested. 

“And I’m not making a knight sleep on the floor!”

He sensed they had reached a stalemate. 

“...how big is it?” he asked. 

“...sizeable,” she offered. 

“...it’s not an ideal solution,” he mumbled, feeling his face begin to warm, “but would you concede to taking half?”

The dark spared them both their blushes. “...I suppose,” she muttered. _“Clothed.”_

“Deal.”

He saw the shadow nod before slipping into the dark opening. And he followed, carefully, keeping one hand to the wall as he circled the room in search of a bed he desperately hoped had been placed against a wall--

He cursed as his knee connected with a small table. And he _knew_ he heard Robin giggling from somewhere nearby. But it at least guided him to the edge of the bed, where he sat, removed his boots and baldric, and stretched out across the soft coverlet. And after a moment, he sensed a slight weight lay out behind him. 

He considered asking her a question. Where had she come from, how did she become the beast’s prisoner, did she know any way to defeat it…?

...but apparently the stress of the day had been greater than he’d thought. When he next opened his eyes, sunlight had lifted the veil of darkness in the hall beyond. And, as he sat up, he found that Robin had gone.

He realized only as his attention fell on the bedside table that he was ravenously hungry. He had gone to bed without supper, after all. But someone -- likely his new friend -- had left a few fresh apples and a pair of pasties for him on the nightstand. Long cold, but still delicious. 

Pulling on his boots and securing Falchion at his side again, the prince made his way out of the room and down the long hallway, glancing out at the castle grounds through the arrowslits. How long had this place been abandoned, he wondered? He’d never realized there was anything out here at all--

Chrom stopped, staring down through the narrow windows. The fog had mostly burned away as the sun cast long shadows through the garden -- and through that darkness, the nightmare walked, its every step swirling the thin mist still clinging to the ground. Seeing it in the half-light brought no comfort: twisted horns framed its dragon-like head, bony plates trailed down the back of its neck and along its spine, and each feathered limb ended in wicked claws.

But somehow, seeing the beast outside the cover of darkness gave him a surge of courage. Its shadowy illusions were broken. He knew, now, exactly what he faced. 

Sliding Falchion from its sheath, the prince raced for the stairs, ready to meet the monster. 

The hunt was on.


	2. Keeping Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt continues. But strange things come to light that make Chrom begin to question just what is going on around him. The monster proves a strange quarry, and stranger still is the company it keeps...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I can't seem to stop writing this~~
> 
> I am going to be throwing a LOT of tags onto this story with this chapter, because while there are some lighthearted aspects to it, there are dark aspects to this story now coming to light. **Anyone uncomfortable with or triggered by suicidal thoughts or tendencies, please be warned that this story contains a lot of that subject matter.**
> 
> We officially get a perspective break in this chapter! Hooray! Not that I don't love writing Chrom, of course, but a change of view can shed a lot of light on things. In keeping with the last chapter, dashes (-) indicate a change of scene, while (*) indicate a change of perspective. Just so that you know what to expect going forward. 
> 
> And thank you to **[AcquaSole](archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole)** for offering beta review on your gift fic -- I hope it surprised you in more ways than one!

Chrom wasn’t entirely sure what the point of this hunt was. After spying the creature in the gardens that morning, he had pursued it into the forests around the lake -- but it had always been two steps ahead, just out of reach of his blade. Come sunset, frustrated and weary, he’d made his way back to the castle to seek out its prisoner, in hopes she might have some knowledge to help him...and yet, every room seemed empty as he wandered the halls. 

An hour after darkness settled across the valley, he heard steps on the stairs. “Where have you been hiding?” he called as her shadow approached. 

“Oh, here and there,” Robin replied. “I’d wager you’re hungry.” 

“Starving,” he corrected. 

“Well, then, I’m glad I brought so much.”

His stomach sounded like a monster in its own right, growling at the promise of dinner. He heard her laugh, her shadow kneeling and spreading a feast across the moonlit stones: apples, more pasties, a few roasted rabbit haunches, and two crowberry tarts. The prince tore into the meal with gusto, hoping that his company wouldn’t take offense to his lacking manners -- but much to his relief, she took to her share with equal relish (and offered one of her rabbit legs for his dessert, which he traded gladly). 

“Have you considered candles?” he asked, dusting crumbs from his tunic.

“Not particularly,” Robin replied. “Why?”

“Because it’s dark! How do you even see anything?” The light coming through the arrowslits was all that had kept him from fumbling blindly for his meal. 

“You adjust after a while. And besides, how would you propose I get candles, Sir Chrom?”

The prince opened his mouth to reply...and closed it again. She did have a point. Even if she were able to make it to town before the nightmare woke, all the shops would be closed. And by the time they opened, the beast would have returned. 

That thought sobered him. Taking up the last apple, he turned it a few times in his hands. “So how did you wind up as that monster’s prisoner?” he asked. 

“It was my father’s doing.”

He glanced over at her shadowed form, watching her pull her knees up to her chest. “He just...gave you away?”

“He _forced_ me to this,” she hissed. “He didn’t...didn’t sell me or pawn me off, he _wanted_ this to happen. Though I wager he would have preferred to have me devoured outright.”

 _“Why?”_ he asked. “How could... _anyone_ want that for their child?”

“You assume he wanted a child.” Her bitter laughter made him cringe. 

Turning the apple a few more times, Chrom tried to think of something else to ask, some way to shift the conversation away from what was apparently a very troubling subject. “Is there anything you can tell me about the beast?” he asked. “Something that will help? It said something about a hunt, and I haven’t been able to get close yet -- I’m starting to think it’s just taunting me.”

“It doesn’t like the light,” she murmured. “The sun doesn’t harm it, but the light blinds its eyes. So it keeps to the shadows.”

“The villagers were saying something like that,” he muttered, touching the stone still hanging from his shoulder. “Why does it sleep at night, then, if it doesn’t like the sun?”

“I’ve spent years trying to figure that out,” Robin sighed. 

“ _Years?_ How long have you been here?”

“Here? Only a few months. But the beast has had me for much, much longer.”

“Where did you come from?” 

“Far to the west,” she murmured. “But...as best as I’ve been able to guess, the beast is at its weakest during the day, when the light drains it. It needs to be awake to defend itself: if it slept by day, it would be vulnerable. But it can hide in the dark -- it can _disappear_ in the dark, so the night itself becomes a defense. So it sleeps when it is best protected, to restore the strength it needs to defend itself. That’s what I think, at least.”

“...I suppose that makes as much sense as anything,” Chrom admitted. “What does it eat?”

“Oh, just about anything. Meat, fruit, vegetables...whatever it can find or hunt.”

“It must be having a grand time with those village offerings, then,” he grumbled.

“So are you,” she snickered. 

The prince looked down at the apple in his hands. “Wait, all of that was…?”

“Where did you think it came from?” she laughed.

Well, it would explain why everything was cold. 

“I don’t know how I feel about eating offerings left for a monster.”

“Then don’t think of it as eating offerings for a monster. Think of it as eating offerings for you, so that you might defeat the monster. A knight can’t fight on an empty stomach, after all.”

“...I suppose that’s true,” he muttered, finally biting into the apple as she pulled the other tart out of the moonlight.

“So why did you agree? To its hunt?” she asked. 

“Because if I didn’t, it might have started hunting villagers instead. And I won’t let innocents suffer when there’s something I can do. The whole reason I came to the village was to put an end to that monster. I’d expected to have some aid, but…well, for now, I’m still alive.” Hopefully he’d be so lucky tomorrow. “Is there anything else you can tell me? That might help me defeat it?”

She sighed, stretching out and finally starting in on her other tart. He waited, finishing the apple and tossing the core out the narrow window (which, to his surprise, she applauded). 

“You have to strike its heart.”

He glanced at the shadow beside him and saw her touch her chest. “Its heart,” he repeated. 

“Yes. That’s how you slay a monster, isn’t it? And this one has armor -- you can’t cut its head off, with those bony plates on its neck. So you have to cut out its heart, instead. There’s a stone in its chest -- aim for that.”

He’d never seen its underside before. But at least he wouldn’t waste time trying something that might leave him vulnerable to attack. “Thank you. Truly.”

“Thank _you,_ ” she murmured. “For helping a stranger. Most people wouldn’t risk their lives for someone they’ve only just met.”

“Well, I’m not most people,” he chuckled, rising to his feet and offering his hand down to her. She hesitated...but after a moment, she accepted, and he helped her up. “Still only one bed?”

“Where do you imagine I’d get another?” she teased. 

“I thought I’d ask.” He shrugged, following Robin down the hall to the room they had shared the night before. He at least managed not to run into the end table this time. Maybe he really could get used to the dark. 

Settling on his side of the bed, he waited until he felt her stretch out behind him. “Good night, Robin,” he said. 

“Pleasant dreams, Sir Chrom,” she replied. 

He wondered, briefly, if she would be there when he woke. But sleep came for him before he could ponder too long.

\-----

He woke not long after dawn to find himself alone again. Not that it surprised him. But he was rather disappointed. He would like to see his companion at some point.

Breakfast had once more been left on the stand by the bed. He ate slowly, thinking over his conversation from the night before. A stone in its chest marked the creature’s heart. A dangerous target, with those claws and teeth to contend with. But not an impossible one, with the right opening. He just needed an opportunity. 

He set out as the sun burned away the last of the morning mist, striking out into the woods in search of the monster that lurked within. But today, he did not feel it watching. No tell-tale rustle in the brush, no sense of something moving in the dark. He knew it was out there, somewhere. But he couldn’t begin to guess where, in a forest so large. 

And, if Chrom was honest with himself, he was tired. Two days spent running headlong through the trees would leave anyone weary -- and perhaps that had always been the beast’s point. Let the prince exhaust himself in the chase, so that the nightmare could finally make the kill. 

He would not be so easily undone. Not with so many people counting on his success. 

Chrom considered making his way back to Southtown, to let the Shepherds know he was still alive and well. But there would be no way to make it back by nightfall, and he hesitated to go without giving Robin some kind of warning. He’d rather not leave her worried that her captor had eaten him. 

Maybe tomorrow he could go check on them. But a day to rest beforehand wouldn’t be a bad idea. 

As he made his way through the ruined gate, a sound made him pause. Was someone...humming?

Picking his way through the overgrown gardens, the prince tilted his head to listen. No, he wasn’t imagining it. Someone was definitely there. 

But the voice was not Robin’s. 

His pulse quickened as he slid Falchion from its sheath. There was no telling who might be have found this place -- it could be one of the Shepherds, though more likely it was a thief looking to plunder any remaining valuables from the castle...or even a Plegian scout. 

They already had a monster in the woods. The last thing they needed were enemy raiders. 

Circling the grounds along the partly crumbled wall, he listened as the sound grew louder. No one he recognized. But at least he only heard one voice. That would put them on equal footing, should a fight break out. Striding out of the trees, Chrom pointed his sword at a pale-haired stranger…

...who looked up from a bucket of what appeared to be laundry. 

And grinned. “Well, hey, there! I didn’t figure you’d be back yet. It’s kinda early, isn’t it?”

“Who are you?” Chrom demanded, keeping Falchion trained on the young man’s chest. “Are you that monster’s keeper?”

The stranger laughed. “Oh, no, of course not! It’s more like she keeps me.”

The prince frowned. “What does _that_ mean?”

“What’s it sound like?” the young man asked.

“...like you’re another of that monster’s prisoners,” Chrom ventured. “Like Robin.”

“Wrong!” The stranger stuck his tongue out, seeming entirely unconcerned by the blade turned on him. “I’m here because I want to be! I guess I _could_ leave, if I really wanted to, but I really _don’t_ want to. And stop calling her that.”

“What?”

“Monster. It’s not nice.”

“Would ‘nightmare’ be better?” the prince asked. 

“No! Why would you want to call her such mean things, anyway?” the pale-haired man pouted. 

“...have you _seen_ it?”

“Well, of course! She’s so pretty,” he sighed, propping his chin in his hands. 

“ _Pretty,_ ” Chrom repeated.

“ _Beautiful,_ ” the stranger agreed. “I mean, with those curvy horns and those smouldering eyes and that adorable little snaggle-toothed grin -- oh, and the way her scales gleam…”

“You’re mad.”

“You know, lots of people say that.” As the prince approached, the young man rose to his feet, grinning as he dusted off his leggings. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

“You’re in league with that... _thing,_ ” Chrom said, training Falchion’s tip on the stranger’s heart. “I’m going to kill it, and if you try to stop me--”

**“If you harm him I will rip you apart.”**

He’d forgotten the power of that voice. Stumbling backward, the prince tightened his grip on his sword, watching as the creature leapt down from the wall just behind the stranger -- who reached out a hand to reverently stroke the scaled hide as it passed. 

**“Henry.”**

“Yes?” the man giggled. 

**“Three more. Due west.”**

“Got it!” he saluted. “Hey, you think the laundry’ll be okay if I leave it soaking, or should I finish up here first?”

**“Now, please.”**

“Okay, okay -- but if something shrinks, it’s your own fault.”

Chrom swore he saw the monster roll all six of its eyes. And then its attention fixed back on him. 

**“He has no part in this hunt. Just as your companions have no part. Do not turn your blade on him again.”**

The prince nodded, slowly. And the beast lowered its head, stalking past him into the overgrown gardens with barely a rustle. 

“Told you,” Henry snickered. “So, hey, are you gonna follow her?”

Chrom nodded again, still staring at the place where the beast had disappeared.

“You’re trying to kill her, aren’t you.”

The prince turned to find the stranger’s smile had finally vanished. “That’s what you do with...things like that,” he said. 

“Why?”

“Because -- because they’re monsters.”

“I told you not to call her that.”

“What should I call her, then?”

“You could use her name.”

“It has a name?”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

He’d never thought nightmares needed them. “What is it, then?”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“ _Ask_ it?”

“You just talked to her, smarty britches,” Henry sighed. “You know, if you spent less time pointing your sword at things and more time thinking about them, you might get somewhere.”

Said the madman doing a monster’s laundry.

“Look, I’ve gotta get going, but...but please don’t hurt her. Okay?”

Chrom frowned, watching as the young man dried his hands on a dark cloth. “Why?”

“Because she’s my friend. You wouldn’t want to see bad things happen to _your_ friends, would you?”

“Is that a threat?”

“No! ...well, maybe,” Henry admitted. “...no, she made me promise, so I guess not.”

That was not a reassuring answer.

“I’ll consider it,” the prince muttered. 

“Eh, I guess that’s good enough for now,” the man shrugged, throwing a cloak over his shoulders. “Say hi for me when you see her, would you?”

“...sure.” Assuming he _did_ see the creature again today. Making his way back toward the front gate, Chrom scanned the trees -- and in the shadows around the lake, he saw the faintest trace of violet fire. 

He did not run this time. A slew of new and troubling thoughts weighed down his steps. And by the time he reached the shore, the presence had gone.

\-----

He did not chase after the beast. 

Instead he returned to the castle, exploring the dusty rooms in search of his evening companion. It wasn’t so large that they could keep missing one another, was it? 

But he never did manage to find her. And soon sunset stole the last light from the sky, leaving him to feel his way up the winding stair and wait for Robin to find him again. 

At the sound of footsteps, Chrom turned his head, watching for her familiar shadow. “You never mentioned that your monster had a retainer.”

“You met Henry, I take it.”

She knelt, laying out another assortment of fruits, meats, and tarts. But this time nothing looked appealing. “Who is he?”

“He’s...I suppose you could say he’s the beast’s caretaker,” she said, settling in the dark beside him. “And mine. He’s usually the one who collects the offerings. And he does things like laundry and mending. He’s quite nice, if a bit...odd. And occasionally exasperating. He didn’t make you suffer through any of his puns, did he?”

“No,” the prince murmured. “He asked me not to hurt the monster.”

“Oh, gods dammit, Henry,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“Why would he want that beast alive?”

“Because he likes it. And he thinks it’s beautiful,” she mumbled. “We’ve discussed it. At length.”

“Where do his loyalties lie, then?” Chrom asked. “If he’s your caretaker as much as that creature’s, which of you will he side with when I corner it?”

She did not speak for a long time. That did not bode well. Toying with the stone fastened at his shoulder, Chrom tried not to think of just how complicated this situation had become -- gods, he’d come here to slay a beast and now he had a monster _and_ a madman to contend with--

“It’s not as simple as that.”

He glanced at the shadow beside him, watching as she lifted a hand to her chest. “Henry is a good person. He is. But he was alone for a long time, and he’s scared of being alone again. And when that monster dies, he loses...everything.”

“Even you?”

“I’ll be free,” she murmured. “It’s not that I don’t care about him. I do. He’s been a good friend through all of this. He’s taken care of me, through everything that’s happened. But I can’t keep on like this. And I can’t bring him with me, when this hunt ends.”

“...where will you go, once you’re free?” the prince asked.

“Somewhere warm and sheltered,” she whispered. “And very far from here.”

“...that’s a shame,” he sighed. “I had hoped to spend more time with you, once that monster was out of the way.”

“There’s no help for it,” she shrugged.

They sat in silence, neither one taking any interest in the meal between them. Chrom mulled over the strange events of the day, rubbing the stone idly with his thumb as he tried to think of something else to say. Something that might bring some sense to all this madness.

“Henry said he made a promise not to hurt my friends,” the prince muttered.

“I made him,” Robin replied. “Henry doesn’t take loss easily. He can get....violent. So I made him swear that he would accept whatever came of the hunt. No lashing out if the monster died.”

“Why do you call it that?”

“Gods, you sound like Henry,” she muttered. “I call it that because that’s what it is. A monster.”

“A monster that apparently believes in honorable combat,” Chrom noted. “It warned me not to hurt Henry because he’s not part of the hunt. Just like my friends aren’t.”

Robin sighed, folding her hands in her lap. “Do you think it’s not a monster, then?”

“...I don’t really know anymore,” he admitted. “It hasn’t been acting like a monster should. ...at least, not how I think a monster should. ...Henry said it has a name, too.”

“He would,” she grumbled.

“Do you know it?”

“...yes,” she replied.

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not my place,” she mumbled, lifting a hand to her throat again.

“So I need to talk to it, after all,” he sighed.

“It won’t tell you,” she warned.

“How do you know?”

“Because that would give up too much.”

“...it still doesn’t hurt to ask,” he decided, reaching for a pasty. 

“Suit yourself,” she shrugged, taking a tart. 

“Starting with dessert?”

“No one said I couldn’t.”

“My little sister tries that sometimes,” he chuckled. “Whenever we’re out on the march, she always tries to sneak her tart first and leave the vegetables for last. Frederick never lets her get away with it, though.”

“A girl after my own heart,” Robin laughed. 

And with that, the tension broke. The conversation turned to lighter things as they shared their meal: his sister’s exploits, the great knight’s nannying, Henry’s terrible jokes. And by the time they settled on their own sides of the single bed, a feeling of contentment had replaced the worries of the day. 

It wasn’t until he woke that he thought again of returning to Southtown. But by then, Robin had already gone.

\-----

Chrom spent the day exploring. Not just the castle, but the overgrown gardens, the sprawling grounds covered in wildflowers, the shore of the lake that might once have fed the fountain in the courtyard. It was a beautiful place, when he stopped to pay attention.

He had not felt the creature’s presence throughout the morning, and had not gone seeking it out, either. Let it find him, this time. He was tired of running himself ragged in a fruitless chase. As the sun began its descent, the prince settled in the lee of a large stone jutting into the lake, watching the light play across the water and the fish darting through the shallows in search of food. 

Apparently even monsters could appreciate some peace and quiet. 

Something moved on the rocks overhead. 

Chrom stiffened, his hand reaching slowly for the sword at his side--

**“Don’t bother.”**

His fingers twitched as he glanced up at the nightmare, sprawled out across the flat top of the outcrop. Its claws flexed on the edge, too far away to pose any real threat -- and it seemed less a threatening gesture than one of relaxation, like a cat curling its paws as it napped in the sun. 

“...what are you doing?” he asked. 

**“This rock has been baking in the sun all morning. It is warm, and I am tired.”**

“So...you’re not going to attack me?” he ventured. 

**“I see no reason to, if you agree to stay your blade.”**

“...a truce, then.”

**“For the day.”**

The prince turned his attention back to the lake, listening for any sound of the monster shifting, preparing to pounce while his guard was down. But he heard nothing, aside from his own heartbeat and the low murmur of the creature’s breath. 

“Why did you call me out here?” he asked.

**“I didn’t call you. I asked for your bravest, your strongest, and you answered.”**

“...what is this hunt, then?”

**“I wanted to know if your greatest hero could best me.”**

“Then why haven’t you attacked me?”

**“Why should I?”**

“Aren’t you supposed to be hunting me?”

**“That would be too easy.”**

“...wait.”

The creature laughed as he turned to look at it. “Are you telling me _I_ was supposed to be hunting _you_ this whole time?”

**“You were doing a fine job for a few days.”**

“I thought you were going to eat me!”

**“Why did you give chase, then?”**

“...I thought it might give me an advantage, if I didn’t just run like prey.”

He got the sense that the monster was smiling at him. Which made him feel more than a little foolish.

“Henry says hello, by the way.”

**“I imagine you two carried on an interesting conversation.”**

That seemed an understatement. “He gets upset when I call you a monster.”

**“I’ll never understand that.”**

“Why?”

**“Because that is what I am.”**

“...is it?”

Glancing up, he saw the beast raise its head, six glowing eyes peering at him through the shadows of the overhanging leaves.

**“What do you imagine I am?”**

He’d been trying to figure that out since their last encounter. 

“The first time I saw you, I thought you were a nightmare,” he admitted. “Just...a looming shadow with too many eyes and teeth. When I saw you in more light, I thought you were a monster. Terrifying, but something I could conquer. ...now I don’t know what to think.” Not after talking to Henry. And not after this.

**“Do you wish to give up the hunt?”**

The creature turned its head, staring out across the lake as it waited. Frowning, the prince gathered up a handful of pebbles and tossed them one by one into the water, watching the ripples play across the surface. 

“...if I give up the hunt, Robin will stay a prisoner, won’t she.”

**“Yes.”**

“You could release her.”

**“I can no more let her go than I can stop the sun from rising.”**

“Why?” he demanded.

The beast did not answer. He heard it move, and raised his head to watch as it stretched and rolled its shoulders, turning away from him and pacing down to the treeline. Apparently that answer would give too much away, too. 

“One more question.”

The creature paused, turning its head to fix three violet eyes on him. “What is your name?”

This time he was certain he saw the beast smile. 

**“That, you will need to guess.”**

And then it vanished into the dark.

***

Robin was tired.

The deep shadows covering the garden cloaked her movements, muffling her steps as she made her way to the rear of the castle. Only the faintest blush of light remained in the sky now. Soon the beast would sleep. 

And then she could rest. 

As she slid into the mossy courtyard, Henry bounced down the stairs to greet her. “Hey-o! Welcome home! I’ve got a warm bath all ready to go for you -- oh, oh, and you’ll never guess what they left for you today! ...go on, try to guess,” he snickered. 

Robin shook her head, feeling some of her exhaustion ease as his cheer buoyed her spirits. She could always count on Henry -- even if he did exasperate her, on occasion. 

The dark mage looked to the sky with a grin. “Well, maybe a guess can wait. Looks like it’s showtime!”

Robin did not need to look for the sun. The stone burning in her chest told her that night had finally fallen. 

The change hurt. Not as much as it had the first time, so many years ago, but the pain had only dulled, not disappeared, with familiarity. The shift and crack of bone no longer made her scream, the tear and twist of muscle no longer left her in tears...but it still hurt.

Gods, it still hurt. 

The fire in her breast faded as the stone at last went dormant, leaving her in a trembling huddle on the mossy path. As the pain subsided, she heard enthusiastic applause from somewhere nearby -- moments before warm fabric settled over her bare shoulders. 

“Bravo!” Henry laughed as her shaky fingers pulled the coat close around her. “I’d say encore, but I know you can’t do it again. But still, bravo!”

“Do you really have to do that?” she mumbled as the dark mage pulled her to her feet.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, one arm holding her up as she took a few unsteady steps across the cool cobblestones. After a day on four legs, it took a bit of practice to remember how walking upright felt. But it would be worse when she finally opened her eyes. The world looked so different through two eyes, after seeing it through six. 

“It’s not a very fun show,” she grumbled, letting Henry guide her up the stairs and into what had once been the castle kitchen.

“It is for me,” he argued. “The way the shadows wrap you up and wriggle around and then get sucked back into that stone -- it’s really amazing!”

“I’m glad one of us enjoys it,” she muttered. Two steps into the room and she could already feel the steam on her skin. Blinking owlishly through the dark and trying to ignore the disorienting lack of scope, Robin stepped into the waiting tub of water, shrugging her coat off as she sank down into the warmth. It might not be deep enough to fully submerge her aching body, but the heat alone did wonders for her pains.

“So how’d it go out there today?” Henry asked, running a comb through her matted hair.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Well, yeah, but how did it _go?_ Is he getting closer, or…”

“I know you’ve been interfering.”

“Who, me?” he asked, feigning shock. “How do you figure?”

“He said hello for you. And he asked my name.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Of course not,” she muttered, dousing her shoulder with warm water and rubbing the sore muscles. “He’d abandon the hunt if I did.”

“...he should.”

Henry’s hands stilled. Tilting her head back, Robin sighed, her fingers running idly over the smooth facets of the stone in her chest. “We’ve talked about this, Henry.”

“I know,” he mumbled. “But I still don’t get why you’d want to do this. You’re beautiful in the daytime--”

“I’m a monster,” she whispered. 

“Don’t call yourself that.”

“It’s what I am.”

“No it’s not!”

She reached back, curling her fingers around his shaky hand. “Henry…”

“I _hate_ it when you call yourself that! You’re _not_ a monster, you’re _Robin,_ no matter _what_ you look like! Just because you look different at night doesn’t mean you’re a monster during the day.”

“It’s not _me_ during the day,” she insisted. “This, right now --” she gestured to herself, aware of just how unimpressive she looked huddled in the bath, “-- _this_ is me. This is what I _should_ be, this is _what_ I want to be, every minute of every hour. And I _can’t_ because of this _godsdamn stone.”_

Her nails dug into the old scars around the gem. If only she could rip it out, but even the monster had failed--

“Take it easy.”

Henry’s hands gently pried her fingers free. Wrapping her arms around her knees, Robin took a deep, shaky breath, trying to pull herself together as Henry started in on her hair again.

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head slightly. “It’s okay.”

“I still don’t like this.”

“I know.”

“I mean, there’s gotta be another way, right? A way that doesn’t kill you?”

“Do you have any new suggestions? Because those last hexes didn’t do any good.” They had seemed sound in theory, though. She’d had high hopes about the unbinding one, in particular -- a shame it had only worked on her hair. If only it hadn’t cost three frogs and a snake, it would have made the nightly untangling of that mess a lot quicker.

“Not yet. But I’m working on it! Just you wait, I’m gonna come up with something _hex-_ ceptional next time!”

“Henry, for the love of Grima don’t start on the puns--”

“Oh! You never guessed what they left for you today! Come on, guess!”

“You had better not be setting up another joke,” she warned as he scrambled for something on the counter.

“You’ve gotta guess!” he laughed.

“I don’t know. Peaches?” Peaches sounded lovely, actually. Not that the apples weren’t nice, but--

“Nope!” As she held her hand up, the dark mage dropped a smooth, soft something into her palm. Sniffing it curiously, she tried to identify the mystery object by touch alone. Too flat for a plum, wrong texture for a peach. It was some kind of fruit, she knew that -- when she took a hesitant bite, the flesh had a curiously fine-grained texture to it…

“Oh, gods, don’t tell me--”

“ _Curse-_ simmons!”

 _“Henry,”_ she groaned. “Henry, I am _dying._ You are _murdering me with terrible jokes.”_

He laughed. And despite herself, Robin smiled as she took another bite of the persimmon. Exasperating as he could be, he always managed to lift her spirits.

“Your bath is getting cold,” he noted, offering a towel.

“It feels fine to me,” she mumbled, sinking a little deeper into the tub. Though she might just be used to it.

“If you don’t get out soon I’ll have to Elfire it up again.”

“...Henry, the last time you tried that on your bath you burned your own eyebrows off.”

“I know! I bet you’d look really cute with no eyebro--”

“I’m getting out.”

He was right. The water had gone cold. Shivering, Robin wrapped the towel close and stepped out onto the floor, drying herself thoroughly before pulling her own clothes on for the evening. This, at last, felt right.

“Is the ward still holding?” she asked, turning toward the dark mage. He leaned close, touching the stone with the tips of his fingers before flashing her a cheery smile.

“Yepper! Tidy as a spiderweb.” She shook her head fondly, moving to the counter to browse through the day’s offerings: persimmons, one or two apples, a few meat pies, a whole roasted grouse, and a stack of crowberry tarts. These Ylisseans certainly knew their way around desserts. “Off to chat with your hunter again?” he asked.

“That was my plan,” she agreed, gathering as much as she could manage. “You?”

“Dinner and bed. Maybe I’ll dream up a new curse tonight!”

“I hope you do.” He grinned at her, and she smiled back through the dark. “Good night, Henry.”

“Night, Robin.”

Moving by memory rather than sight, she picked her way through the winding halls and up the narrow stairway to the second floor. The light through the windows seemed softer tonight -- perhaps the moon had finally begun to wane…

“There you are. I was starting to worry you weren’t coming.”

“Oh, no, Henry just had some new jokes and I lost track of time.”

“That bad?”

“Terrible.”

Spreading the meal between them, Robin settled back against the wall, staring out at the dark sky. She wondered, idly, what would happen when the knight finally slew the monster. Would it transform into a woman? Or would he simply believe that he had killed a beast, and that she had been set free in the act?

She hoped it was the latter. It would be best if he never learned the truth.

“I talked to the monster today.”

“What did it say?” she asked, taking another persimmon as he started on the grouse.

“It said that it couldn’t release you.”

“I’m not surprised,” she said, touching the stone at her throat.

“Why not? You said your father forced you into this. Why can’t it just let you go?”

“Because my father bound me to it,” she murmured, her fingers sliding across the cool facets. “Breaking that bond is…”

He said nothing. She bit into her fruit, letting the sweetness melt over her. Small comforts meant the most, sometimes.

“Have you tried? To break it?”

“Oh, yes. Many times,” she sighed. “More often when I was younger. ...I was close, once.” She stroked the scars around the stone, thinking back to just how near freedom had been. “I was so close, I could _feel_ it…”

“...what happened?”

“...Henry,” she murmured. “That’s how we met. How he became my caretaker. He pulled me back.”

“You didn’t hate him for stopping you?”

“Oh, I was angry for a long time,” she agreed. “But he didn’t do it out of spite. He was just trying to help. And he tries to break the bond, sometimes. He hasn’t had any luck yet, but…”

“...I might need to wish him luck, then.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know if I can kill it.”

Her heart sank. “Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t seem like a monster,” Chrom replied. “It hasn’t tried to hurt anyone. It hasn’t tried to hurt _me,_ even, and I’m supposed to be hunting it. It seems to care about Henry -- enough to threaten me for pulling a sword on him. But it gave me a warning instead of just ripping my throat out...and it could have. I hadn’t even realized it was there. It...just doesn’t act like I’d expect.”

“...most people would try to kill it based on looks alone,” she murmured.

“I’m not most people.”

“I’m starting to notice.”

He smiled at her through the dark, and she returned it in softer kind. He seemed a nice young man. Good-natured. Kind-hearted.

She hoped he never learned the truth about her.

The conversation turned to lighter things as they finished out the meal. And as he helped her to her feet, his touch lingered.

“I will find a way to free you,” he promised.

“I hope you do,” she murmured.

He let go of her fingers after another moment, and she tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat. They walked together to the only room still furnished, and she waited as he fumbled his way over to and into the bed before settling on her own side.

“Good night, Robin,” he murmured.

“Pleasant dreams, Sir Chrom,” she replied. 

Part of her felt guilty for misleading him so terribly.

But more than anything, she wanted to never walk in a monster’s skin again.


	3. Brought to Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrom seeks answers from those closest to the creature, but only comes to further question his own beliefs about the beast's true nature. The prisoner he hopes to free harbors dark secrets -- hidden truths that, once revealed, add a dire urgency to the prince's promised mission...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as much as I love fairy tales, there's a certain suspension of disbelief required to fully enjoy them -- one that a story like this can't, and shouldn't, rely on. Reason and human curiosity are both out in force in this chapter, and while we're making some departures from the core story where logic is concerned, rest assured that the heart of this tale is still true to its source ~~which means that things are still going to go very wrong~~.
> 
> More perspective breaks in this chapter! Just as a reminder, dashes (-) indicate a change of scene, while (*) indicate a change of perspective. Just so that you know what to expect going forward. 
> 
> And thank you again to **[AcquaSole](archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole)** for beta review on your gift fic -- I hope you're enjoying it!

He’d stopped expecting Robin to be there when he woke up. But it still disappointed him to find her place empty when sunrise roused him. 

Rather than setting out for the forest, Chrom fought his way through the dense gardens to the rear of the castle -- and sure enough, as he struggled out of the overgrowth, he saw the beast’s retainer in the courtyard, a pile of clothes at his side and a threaded needle poking out of his mouth. 

“Henry, right?”

The pale-haired man grinned so widely that the pin fell to his lap. “Well, good morning! Fancy seeing you out here! I figured you’d be off doing the whole hero thing by now.”

“I’m not feeling much like a hero at the moment,” the prince muttered.

“You sure don’t smell like one, either.”

...it _had_ been a few days since he’d had a decent bath. And his clothes hadn’t been laundered in still longer.

“Tell you what,” Henry snickered, fastening the needle to his tunic. “I’ll get a bath warmed up and your clothes taken care of if you promise not to go out hunting today.”

“...deal,” Chrom agreed. “I probably wouldn’t have had much luck, anyway.

“Not when she can smell you a mile away,” the madman laughed. “Gimme a few minutes and I’ll have everything ready.”

“Need any help?” the prince asked.

Henry gave him a puzzled look. “With what?”

“Getting things ready? Hauling water, chopping wood...?”

“...gee, nobody’s ever offered before.”

“Robin doesn’t help out?”

The young man fidgeted, his grin slipping. “She has other things to do. I guess you can help if you want?”

“Good.”

With two sets of hands, the task of filling the rather unimpressive tub proved easier than Chrom had expected. “Any idea where the wood pile’s hiding?” the prince asked, unclasping his cape and setting it aside.

“Not a clue,” Henry replied in singsong. “But you might wanna take a couple steps back.”

“What?”

Light flooded the room. Jumping back against the wall, Chrom stared as the pale-haired man waved one hand, summoning a gout of flame from the bright circles hovering around him. The fire struck the tub with a violent hiss, flooding the room with steam but leaving no more than a few stray sparks floating through the air.

“You’re a mage?” the prince asked.

“Well, yeah,” Henry laughed. “Robin says I’m _hex-_ cellent at magic--”

“No she doesn’t.” Gods, he hadn’t believed the jokes were _that_ bad.

“Yeah, she doesn’t,” the mage giggled. “She does say I’m really good, though.”

“...is that how you’ve been trying to free her? Magic?”

“She told you?” Henry’s face lit up as Chrom moved away from the wall, hesitantly starting to remove the rest of his clothes.

“She said you were trying to find a way to break her bond with that...creature,” he decided.

“Oh.” The mage seemed almost disappointed as he crouched down by the basin, testing the water with his fingers -- and immediately drawing back with a smile. “Ooh! That’s toasty!”

“So I take it you haven’t had any luck yet?”

“No, not yet,” Henry agreed, dumping a spare bucket of water into the tub and swirling it around with his hands. “But I’m working on something new! I’ve got a real good feeling about it.”

“Good luck,” Chrom chuckled.

“Thanks!”

Stripping out of his smallclothes, the prince lowered himself into the steaming bath, listening as the mage bustled around behind him. “So how long have you been doing this? Taking care of Robin and that...creature?”

“Oh, wow, it’s been a really long time -- years, probably,” the mage replied.

Henry didn’t look much older than Chrom. And he got the sense that the beast’s prisoner was fairly young, herself. “Are you and Robin betrothed?” he ventured. 

Henry cackled. “Of course not! Even if I liked her that way, she’d never go for it.”

“Why not?”

“She…”

The prince glanced back as the mage fell silent. “...it has to do with that bond, doesn’t it.”

“She doesn’t think she can do anything until it’s broken,” Henry agreed. “And it makes her unhappy. So I keep trying.”

“But you don’t want to kill the mons-- _creature,_ ” he corrected hastily.

“Well, of course not!”

“...what can you tell me about it?” the prince asked.

“Her.”

“What?”

“You keep calling her an _it._ That’s mean.”

“What can you tell me about _her,_ then,” Chrom amended.

“She’s really nice. She likes flowers -- sometimes I’ll make little braids out of the offerings people leave her and put them on her horns and she just looks so _cute_ and…”

Maybe that had been the wrong question.

“What’s her name?” he asked, cutting over the mage’s rambling.

“Did you ask her?”

“She told me I had to guess.”

“What do you think her name is, then?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you!”

Henry laughed, dumping the prince’s clothes into a wash bucket and heading down the stairs to the courtyard. Well, it was Chrom’s own fault for asking a madman.

“So how did you wind up here?” the prince called. “Most people wouldn’t be so excited about working for...something like her.”

“Why not?”

He was really starting to wonder about Henry.

“She looks pretty frightening, to start with.”

“I don’t know why people think that,” the mage mused. “I always thought she looked sweet. Like a big puppy.”

“I don’t want to know what puppies are like where you’re from.”

“Not all that different from the puppies around here,” Henry replied. “Leggier, though.”

“...we have dogs around here?”

“Yeah! Big grey ones that howl a lot.”

“...you’re talking about wolves, Henry.”

“Same thing.”

Chrom shook his head, scrubbing at his shoulders with a rough cloth. “Anyway. How’d you end up as her retainer?”

“I was appointed!” the mage declared proudly.

“By who?”

“Robin’s dad.”

“...the man who bound his own daughter to it?...her?” the prince corrected.

“Yep!”

“...so where is he now? Robin’s father?”

“Dunno!”

“...aren’t you here on his orders?”

“Nope! He’s got no clue where we are,” Henry snickered.

“But if he appointed you--”

“I don’t like him.”

Something about the mage’s voice changed. A dangerous tension lurked beneath his cheerful tone, enough to give the prince pause. “...so you’re not loyal to him?”

“I’m loyal to her.”

“...the creature, or Robin?”

“Both.”

“...but if you can’t find a way to break their bond, and I have to kill that creature…”

“I made a promise.”

Chrom was grateful that he couldn’t see Henry’s face. There was enough pain in the mage’s voice alone to shake his resolve. “I promised. But I don’t want her to die. I’m really stuck,” he laughed.

“...we’ll think of something,” the prince said.

“You’d help?”

“I’m having some second thoughts about this hunt,” he admitted. “If there’s a non-lethal alternative, I’d like to take it.”

“...you know, for a hunter, you’re pretty nice.”

Chrom decided to take that as a compliment.

By noon, the prince’s mood had improved significantly: feeling clean and refreshed in newly-washed clothes, he gladly offered to accompany Henry as the mage set out to collect offerings. Despite his rather unnerving manner (and terrible sense of humor), the young man proved to be pleasant company, keeping up a steady stream of chatter as they walked through the increasingly dark woods. But as they approached the grove, the unsettling sense that something followed just out of sight crept over him again. 

“Doesn’t this place bother you?” Chrom muttered as they stepped into the shadowed grove.

“Nope!”

“You don’t feel like we’re being watched?”

“Sure I do! She’s right over there.”

The prince looked up as Henry gestured into the trees, but saw nothing more than brambles and leaves. “Are you sure?”

“Abso-tively,” the mage agreed, laying his cloak out on the ground. “She knows I can take care of myself, but I like it when she tags along.”

“Why doesn’t she come out?” the prince asked.

“Because she’s shy,” Henry offered, dumping a basket of persimmons onto his cape. “She doesn’t like it when people see her, and there’s always a chance somebody could wander in with a new offering.”

“She didn’t seem shy when she scared the wits out of us,” Chrom grumbled.

The mage didn’t respond, tucking a bundle of flowers into his tunic. The prince got the sense that something should be filling that silence. And the fact that it wasn’t bothered him. 

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything,” the mage protested. 

“I know. What _aren’t_ you saying?” Chrom pressed. 

Henry glanced toward the dense thicket where the creature supposedly lurked. Following his gaze, the prince tried to catch a glimpse of moving shadows, violet fire…

“I’m glad it was you.”

Chrom looked down just as the mage turned a brilliant smile on him. “...who accepted the hunt?”

“Yeah. I don’t think anybody else would have thought twice about chasing her down and running her through. So I’m really glad it was you.”

“...I think I am, too.” 

Because he had a feeling Henry was right.

\-----

Robin seemed quiet over supper. Even keeping the conversation light and well away from the hunt, she said very little, letting Chrom speak with only the briefest remarks to prove she was listening. It worried him: they may not have known one another long, but he enjoyed their evening talks.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. And much as he’d felt with Henry earlier in the day, the prince got the sense that something important was going unsaid. “Robin?”

“It’s nothing,” she murmured.

He didn’t believe that.

“Did something happen?” he pressed. 

“No.”

“...is that what’s bothering you?”

She leaned back against the wall, lifting a hand to her throat. “I’m tired. That’s all.”

“Was your day that exciting?” Chrom still wasn’t sure where she disappeared to every morning. He was starting to wonder if the castle had secret passages or hidden cellars that he had yet to find.

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “It was very quiet. Just trying to find ways to pass the time.”

“You could help Henry, if you need something to do.”

“I’m not good for much more than company.”

“That’s how I ended up feeling, too,” the prince admitted. After having the mage laugh at his sorry sewing attempts, Chrom had left Henry to what he was clearly best at. “But he’d probably like the company. ...I would, too.”

“You don’t need my company on a hunt.”

“Not that I’ve been doing much hunting lately,” he muttered. How had they wound up back at the one topic he’d been trying to avoid?

“...are you thinking of giving up?”

He glanced at her shadow, watching as she wrapped a cloak tighter around her shoulders. “...not exactly,” he sighed. “I don’t want to kill it, if there’s another way to break the bond. And I don’t want to leave you trapped like this. I’m starting to see why Henry feels so stuck.”

“It’s not an easy task,” she murmured. “By any estimation.”

“...we’ll figure something out.” Reaching into the dark, he touched her shoulder -- and though she stiffened, briefly, he felt her fingers settle over his.

“Thank you.”

He smiled, hoping she could see it in what little light the moon offered. And then he stood, offering his hand to help her up. 

She didn’t move. The prince frowned as he knelt beside her in the dark. “What is it?”

She shook her head slowly. “It’s nothing,” she murmured, taking to her feet.

“...it’s not.”

Robin paused as he caught her hand. Something didn’t feel right. It hadn’t since she’d arrived at the top of the stairs. And the slight tremor of her fingers only increased that certainty.

“...I’m tired, Sir Chrom.”

The weight of those words left him briefly stunned. Rising again, he tightened his grip on her hand. “Is this about the hunt?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been tired for a long time. Some days it’s easier to bear. Some days it’s a struggle to remember why I’m here. ...today is one of those days.”

“You can’t be free if you give up--”

“Can’t I?” she laughed. “Isn’t that what freedom is? A release, an escape, instead of staying trapped in this endless, miserable cycle…”

Her voice broke. Chrom hesitated, struggling to find the right thing to say…

...but words failed him.

Instead he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You can’t stop fighting,” he murmured. “I promised I would find a way to free you. And I mean to, no matter what it takes. ...there’s a way to break the bond. Don’t lose sight of that.”

Her breath shook as she scrubbed at her face. “I’ll try.”

This time, the prince guided her to the bedroom at the end of the hall. And as she curled behind him, he reached out through the dark to touch her shoulder. “Sleep well, Robin.”

Her hand settled over his. “Pleasant dreams, Sir Chrom.”

He prayed he would find any sleep at all.

\-----

For the first time, waking alone in the morning left the prince feeling deeply unsettled. Chrom wasted no time, hurrying through his breakfast before making his way down to the rear of the castle. And, true to form, Henry was there in the courtyard, sitting on the steps and braiding flowers into chains.

“Have you seen Robin?” the prince asked. 

“Well, good morning to you, too,” the mage teased. “But yeah, I saw her.”

“Was she acting strangely?”

“Nope.”

“She didn’t talk about...being tired, or wanting an escape?”

“No more than usual.”

Chrom stopped short. “Than _usual,_ ” he repeated. “She talks about this _regularly?”_

“Oh, yeah, it comes up a lot,” the mage replied. 

“Aren’t you worried she might do something?”

“Nope!”

_“Why?”_

“Because she promised.”

“...you trust her that much?” the prince asked. 

“I know her,” Henry insisted. “And Robin doesn’t break promises.”

Chrom wished he shared that confidence. “Did you see where she went?” 

“Nope,” the mage laughed. 

The prince rolled his eyes, turning toward the lake. “Any idea where the beast is roaming today?...let me guess. No?”

“You betcha!”

“You’re a lot of help.”

“Thanks!”

Shaking his head, Chrom made his way out of the courtyard and into the forest. It had been a while since he’d sought the creature out. And aside from Henry’s insistence that she was watching them the day before, he’d seen no trace of her since their truce. But maybe she could give him some of the answers Robin and her caretaker couldn’t.

...or wouldn’t.

But the morning passed without any sign of her. No sight, no sound, no sense of something following through the shadows. She must be somewhere -- though he was starting to worry that he’d get himself lost before he managed to find her. Would Robin or Henry think to come look for him if he didn’t return? Or would the beast herself come to lead him back with that taunting presence--

A scream pierced the silent forest. 

The prince whirled, snatching Falchion from its sheath and trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. It had sounded close…

Another shout. 

And a roar that shook the birds from the trees. 

Chrom bolted in the direction of the echoes, sword in hand. He didn’t know what was happening, but someone needed help. 

Something moved beyond the brush. Cutting through the undergrowth, the prince raised his blade--

And stopped. 

Three bodies already lay on the ground, torn apart by savage claws. One man still stood, raising his axe as he rushed at the six-eyed beast, only to be swatted aside -- and as the fighter struggled upright, the creature pounced, snaring his head in her jaws and crushing his skull with a sickening crack. 

He had almost forgotten what lurked in these woods. 

A monster. 

The nightmare lifted its head, strings of gore trailing from ragged teeth as its flaming eyes fixed on the prince’s face. Chrom tightened his grip on Falchion’s hilt, his heart racing as he searched for the stone in its chest, the sign of its heart, the one weakness that he would need to strike--

There. 

In the soft light filtering through the canopy, its facets flashed. A gemstone, darker than the shadows, darker even than the monster’s shining scales…

...but there were no scales around the stone. Only scars and broken plates, as though something had tried to tear the gem free.

...what was it she had said? About release from the endless cycle? And how close she had been to escape, only for Henry to pull her back? 

The mage’s insistence that she wasn’t a monster. His relief at the prince’s hesitation to continue the hunt. 

She had turned away, that first night. When he told the monster to come no closer. 

No wonder he could never find her in the castle by day. 

Chrom’s hands shook as she lowered her head, moving silently toward him across the forest floor. But she did not pause. Did not bare her claws or teeth. She only slid past him through the dappled afternoon light, toward the thickets that would swallow her without a trace. 

“I know your name.”

She laughed softly, but did not stop.

**“What is it, then?”**

He turned, letting Falchion fall to his side as he watched her go. 

“Robin.”

She stopped mid-stride. 

...and then she sat, her head bowed low over her chest. 

**“What gave me away?”**

Somehow, her voice sounded different. Smaller. Softer. Sheathing his blade, the prince moved to stand beside her in the dimming light. “Nothing.” They had all been small things. Easily missed, and meaningless on their own. “...how did this happen?” he asked, reaching out to touch her shoulder. Even through his glove, he could feel the warmth beneath her smooth scales.

**“Please. Not while I’m like this.”**

She shied away from his hand, slipping into the lengthening shadows. “...tonight, then,” he murmured. 

**“Tonight.”**

Chrom watched as she disappeared into the trees, gleaming scales and feline grace in a form far too large for such a thing. And then he turned toward the castle, his mind and steps weighed down by the flood of troubling questions he wasn’t prepared to have answered.

***

Robin hadn’t prepared for this.

As she washed the bitter taste of flesh and blood from her jaws, Chrom’s voice echoed through her mind. There had been something somber in the way he spoke her name. Something pained in his question. 

She had never believed he would recognize her. She had been so sure that he would declare her monster, fellblood, Grima’s spawn -- and she had resigned herself to that. But never once had she considered what she would do if he saw through her. 

As the light left the sky, Robin made her way into the courtyard, vaguely aware of Henry’s excited chatter but unable to follow his words. And as the change tore her apart and left her huddled on the cold stones, it took what little strength she had left to fight back tears. 

“He knows my name,” she whispered. 

“He figured it out?” 

Robin bowed her head as he pulled her to her feet. Gods, how could she face the knight now?

“...is that bad?” the dark mage asked.

“...I don’t know what to do, Henry.”

His arm slipped around her, guiding her up the steps and into the kitchen. Sitting down in the rickety chair tucked away in the corner, she tried to gather up her thoughts, tried to dredge up enough courage to mount the stairs…

“Hey. Robin?”

She blinked up at the dark mage as he held a small bundle out to her. Taking it in unsteady hands, she set aside the peach he’d placed atop her clothes and began to dress herself for the night. Somehow, though, the ritual did not leave her feeling human this time. 

“Do you want me to go up with you?” Henry asked.

She shook her head, rising slowly to her feet. “I have to do this myself.” She owed Chrom at least that much.

“...I’m here if you need me,” the dark mage insisted.

“I know.”

Feeling her way through the halls to the spiral stairway, Robin wound her way up the narrow passage. He would be waiting for her at the top. Gods, what should she say to him? What _could_ she say? After everything she’d hidden, after everything he’d seen…

A sick sense of dread settled in her stomach as moonlight touched the stones ahead.

She wasn’t ready.

But what choice did she have?

Slipping out into the hall, she found the knight sitting across from the windows, staring out into the night. She settled in the shadows beside him, drawing her knees up to her chest and trying, once again, to find the right thing to say.

Nothing came to her.

The silence stretched. She shivered in spite of the evening’s warmth, pulling her coat closer and willing the words to come so that she could break the silence before it shattered her--

“You were going to let me kill you, weren’t you.”

“...‘let’ is a strong word,” she mumbled. “...‘incite’ might be better.”

“But you wanted me to kill you.”

“...yes.”

He did not speak again for a few moments. It was all she could do to keep her tremors contained. Speech seemed out of the question.

“...what are you?”

Gentle as those words were, they still made her cringe.

“I’m a monster,” she whispered.

“I don’t believe that.”

She shied away as he touched her shoulder. “How can you say that when you’ve seen what I am?”

“I’ve seen who you are,” he agreed. “...and what you look like during the day doesn’t change that.”

“Yes it does.”

She ran one hand through her matted hair, her breath shaking as the words bubbled up from somewhere deep, somewhere that she’d tried for so long to bury without success. “That _thing_ isn’t _me._ I’m there inside it, I move it, I make it speak, but it’s _wrong._ It’s not my body. It’s not _me_ when I see myself, and I _hate_ walking in that skin that isn’t mine, but I don’t have any choice because every day it _rips me apart_ and puts me back together wrong, and I have to remind myself of how to walk and how to see because _it’s not my body, it’s WRONG no matter how many times it happens it’s WRONG and I CAN’T STAND IT!”_

Her fists trembled in her hair as the words broke apart into sobs. Chrom shifted in the dark beside her as she scrubbed at the bitter tears--

His arm slipped around her shoulders.

“...please don’t cry,” he murmured. “I’m terrible at cheering people up.”

Robin managed a weak laugh, accepting the handkerchief he offered and trying to dry her eyes without success. “You’re not a monster, though,” he added gently. “If what you are by day isn’t you, then this must be. And you don’t seem like a monster now.”

“Even though I misled you?”

“...you’re tired.” He pulled her slightly closer, draping his cloak over her shoulders. “I don’t think I can blame you, if you’ve been trapped like this for so long. ...a warning would have been nice, though.”

“You would have given up the hunt if I’d told you.” Though that seemed a moot point now.

“I would have,” he agreed. “And I could have started looking for a better way to free you. One that doesn’t involve you dying.”

She started, turning to stare at him. And he looked steadily back at her, his faint smile lit by the waning moonlight. “You would still do that?” 

“I promised you, didn’t I?”

“...I suppose you did.”

The silence that settled between them felt lighter, somehow, the dread weight slowly easing off her chest. The tears stopped, gradually, leaving her feeling little better than when they’d started -- but with that long-buried loathing briefly spent, she at least felt a bit more human.

“So what makes you change?” he asked as she folded the sodden handkerchief.

Her fingers lit on the gemstone in her chest. “A curse.”

“Really?” She turned a wry look on him that thankfully was not wasted through the dark. “I thought curses were only in fairy tales.”

“Then I’ve been living a terrible one,” she muttered.

“...what kind of curse is it?”

She sighed, idly stroking the smooth facets. “It’s a gemstone. A great black diamond called the Heart of the Moon. Henry and I managed to dig up a few legends about it: it was once the great treasure of the Grimleal, believed to have been born of the fell dragon himself. But in one of the wars between Ylisse and Plegia, the halidom’s soldiers raided the temple where it was kept and slaughtered everyone they could find. With their final breaths, the Plegian priests laid a curse on the treasure: that only death would part the gem from its holder.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Quite,” she snorted. “The stone bonds to whoever touches it. It only comes free when they die. And given what a treasure it is...it has a very bloody history. I’m still not sure where my father found it. Or how. But he had it fashioned into a pendant and had me wear it. ...as soon as it touched me it became part of me. And turned me into that _thing._ ”

“Is that part of the curse, too?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “We were never able to find anything about it changing its owner like this, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t. Make a monster of whoever touches it, as the men who raided the temple were monsters in the eyes of those they slaughtered.”

“You’re not a monster,” the knight repeated gently. “You’re cursed. And not by anything you did.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” she muttered. “It doesn’t matter _why_ I’m cursed. It still rips me apart. And every time it puts me back together the way I _should_ be, it feels like there’s just a little bit less of me than there was the night before. And I don’t know how much more I can lose before there’s nothing left.”

His arm tightened, and she tugged his cape a bit closer around her shoulders. “...why did you make that challenge? In the clearing? You could have just attacked us outright, if…”

“I did consider it,” she admitted. “Planned on it, even. Letting all of your warriors strike together -- certainly one of you would have succeeded...but Henry wouldn’t stand for it.”

“Henry?”

“He told me it wasn’t fair, pitting myself against so many warriors. And that he wouldn’t let me throw myself away like that. ...he said he would raze everything if I tried.”

“...and the hunt was your alternative?”

“It was his idea,” she sighed. “Single combat...a fair fight. He swore that he’d accept the outcome -- any outcome -- if I promised not to simply give in.”

“Why didn’t you attack me, then?”

“...because I can’t change who I am.”

She tilted her head back, staring at the dark ceiling. “I don’t make a habit of hurting people. I’ve never liked the way it felt. And I had no reason to hurt you, since you never struck at me. Even though you knew it was a hunt. ...even when I tried to goad you into it.”

“I was waiting for you to attack me,” he confessed.

“We had each other at a stalemate, it seems,” she murmured.

“...but if you don’t like to hurt people, why did you kill those men today?”

She winced, remembering too vividly the sound of tearing flesh, the crunch of bone, the metallic smell and tang of blood. It was perhaps for the best that she’d ignored the peach Henry had offered. Fighting back the bile burning in her throat, Robin took a deep, trembling breath and tried to steady herself.

“Because those men were a threat to my life.”

“The life you’ve been trying to forfeit,” he remarked. 

“Not in that way,” she shuddered. “Those men had no intention of killing me. They would have captured me, bound me in chains and irons, and dragged me off if I hadn’t...”

She swallowed hard, pressing a hand to her mouth. Breathe. Just breathe. 

“Who were they?” Chrom asked. 

“My father’s men.”

“Henry said your father doesn’t know where you are--”

“He doesn’t. But he’s searching. And if even one of those men is able to return and report what he saw, my father would bring an army to take me back.”

“...what does he want that would make him do all this to his child?” 

Robin marveled, briefly, at the anger coursing through Chrom’s voice. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’m certain he wanted a monster. And I think he’d try again, given the chance. Which is why I ran before he could.”

“I’m glad you did.”

She smiled, leaning her head briefly against his shoulder. “Any more questions?”

“...I should say yes, but I can’t think of any right now.”

“Well, I for one could use a break. Are you hungry?”

The knight’s stomach growled in answer. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Robin laughed. “Let’s go bother Henry, then. He’s probably waiting to hear how this went.” Though judging by the soft steps sneaking down the stairs, she had a feeling the dark mage already knew. Rising to her feet, she offered her hand down to Chrom...and to her surprise -- to her relief -- he did not hesitate to accept.


	4. In Hopes to See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally aware of the truth, Chrom begins to settle into the quiet life his new companions lead, getting to know them and learning more about the curse at the heart of the matter. And as they grow closer, friendships quietly deepen into something more...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _GUESS WHO FINALLY HAS INTERNET BACK_
> 
>  
> 
> So technically this chapter has been done for days, but I haven't had internet and so haven't been able to post it because there's no way I'm doing formatting tags on mobile. ~~90% of this chapter was written on a cellphone and yet somehow I think the writing was tighter than when it's done on an actual computer and that's kind of ridiculous.~~
> 
> More perspective breaks in this chapter! Just as a reminder, dashes (-) indicate a change of scene, while (*) indicate a change of perspective. Just so that you know what to expect going forward. 
> 
> And thank you again to **[AcquaSole](archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole)** for beta review on your gift fic (and especially for debating fantasy creature physiology in the comments with me)!

He was alone, come morning. But that no longer surprised him at all. 

Breakfast was not waiting on the nightstand, for once. Curious, Chrom made his way down the stairs and around the castle gardens to the rear courtyard, in hopes that Henry might have an answer. Pushing through the thick brush, the prince was relieved to see the mage cheerfully circling the cobbled walkways…

...but he had not expected to find Robin pacing along at Henry’s side, chains of flowers hanging from her curved horns. 

As they turned, the mage’s face lit up. “Morning!” he called, waving as Chrom moved to join them. “You’re up early today.”

”I thought I missed breakfast,” the prince replied. “Good morning, Henry. Good morning, Robin.”

**“I don’t find them very pleasant. But good day, Sir Chrom.”**

“She only just got up,” the mage snickered, slinging one arm casually across her neck. 

**“And I’m still finding my feet.”**

The prince fell into step beside them, watching as Robin picked her way across the mossy stones in her shadowed form. She put great care into her movements, testing her weight with each footfall, seeming to distrust the body that had only a day before carried her with such grace. Then again, she had been human not so long ago. 

“You do this every morning?” Chrom asked.

“Yepper!” Henry agreed. “She gets the hang of it pretty quick.”

**“Seeing takes longer.”**

Her eyes seemed dimmer when he looked, mere sparks against dark scales. “Things must look different during the day.”

“I bet it’s amazing!” Henry sang.

**“Colors are strange. And the scope is wide, but lacking depth.”**

“That just means you get to see more flowers,” the mage pointed out. It might have been his imagination, but the prince thought he saw Robin smile as she tilted her head toward her caretaker. 

**“That is true.”**

Henry was right: she did take to the great form quickly. But she did have years of practice behind her. As the mist in the gardens began to disperse, Robin settled at the bottom of the stairs leading into the former kitchens, resting her head on feathered forelimbs. The mage bounced inside, returning a few moments later with an armful of fruit left over from the previous night’s offerings. Snuggling down against her scaled side, Henry waved for the prince to sit and began divvying up breakfast into two piles. 

As the mage started in on an apple, Chrom glanced at Robin’s motionless form. “Aren’t you going to eat?” 

**“I already had my share.”**

“She never eats during the day,” Henry agreed. “Just at night.”

**“It’s more enjoyable.”**

“Is this how you always start the day?” 

“You betcha!” the mage laughed, starting to juggle two persimmons and a peach -- and the prince was rather amused to notice Robin’s eyes following their progress. “We wake up and have breakfast and she changes and we walk around a little and then we do things. It was kind of weird while you were trying to hunt her. I missed you.” 

Abandoning his juggling mid-toss, Henry flung his arms around her neck -- and her fearsome-looking head tilted to nuzzle him in turn. 

**“And I missed you. But that was a perfectly good peach you just dropped.”**

The mage cackled, gathering up his fallen fruit and polishing off his breakfast in short order. “So what’s the plan for today?” Henry asked. “Is it feeling like a good day or a bad day?”

**“We’ll see. The first thing we need to do is take care of those scouts from yesterday.”**

Chrom had, however briefly, forgotten about them. Robin rolled her shoulders uncomfortably, gathering her limbs beneath her--

“Oh! Oh! Piggy-back ride!” the mage shouted. 

**“Henry--”**

“Please?” he whined. “It’s been _ages_ and you haven’t been around much and I’ve really missed you and--”

**“Fine.”**

The prince saw her roll her eyes, though her voice sounded more amused than anything. Delighted, Henry pulled his cloak off and folded it a few times before tossing it over the bony plates along her spine, clambering up to sit just behind her shoulders. Even with the mage on her back, she stood effortlessly, turning toward the rear gate and loping out into the long shadows.

Chrom had to run to catch up with her stride. “Do you mind if I tag along?” he asked.

Robin paused as both she and Henry turned to look at him -- and her careful shrug lifted the mage another foot off the ground.

**“As you please.”**

When she started again, though, her pace had slowed enough for the prince to keep easily at her side.

Henry provided a steady stream of somewhat one-sided conversation as they made their way through the woods, seeming content to fill the silence for all three of them. After a while, Chrom’s attention began to wander, drawn by the color in the leaves around them. He’d lost all track of time: the days had still been unseasonably warm when the Shepherds returned from Ferox. It must be mid-autumn now -- soon the days would turn cold and short...would that give Robin more time, he wondered? And would that ease some of her misery?

**“We’re here.”**

“Whoa!!”

The mage’s cry of awe shook the prince out of his thoughts. Watching Henry scramble down off of Robin’s shoulders, he stared as the young man immediately began to inspect the carnage from the day before. “Holy _wow!! Look_ at this! I think you got this guy so good you tore a lung! Ooh, are those intestines? And -- wow, did you crunch this guy’s _head!?_ That’s _awesome!!!”_

“...is he always like this?” Chrom asked uncomfortably. 

**“Unfortunately.”**

“You should let him take care of all your father’s men.”

**“Often I do. But I’m rather glad these were dead before Henry got to them.”**

“...what does he usually do?”

**“Burns them alive. I still have nightmares about the screaming.”**

“Hey! Is somebody gonna give me a _hand_ over here?” the mage called, waving a dead man’s arm pointedly. 

**“Gods, not the puns again…”**

Shaking her head, Robin moved through the trees, circling a few times before clawing away the leaf litter to expose the bare ground below. The prince moved to join Henry, dragging the bodies one by one into the clear space and trying very hard to ignore the mage’s gushing over the gory mess. Once the corpses had been relocated, Chrom fell back to join her in the shadows while Henry removed a deep red tome from his tunic. 

Golden light materialized around him, sparks twisting together into incomprehensible runes -- and with a wave of his hand, the mage summoned a roaring pillar of flame from the rings around him and brought it crashing down on the bodies. 

The fire writhed and crackled for several minutes, pushing back the darkness around them. Glancing at the shadowed form beside him, the prince noticed that the light of Robin’s eyes had faded to pinpricks again. And as the blaze died down, he saw nothing more than scorched ground and a few charred bones where the remains had been.

Chrom was beginning to realize just how much of a threat Henry could be. No wonder she had backed down when he threatened to raze everything. 

While the mage stuffed a few blackened bone shards into his sash, Robin moved to spread the leaf litter back across the baked earth, leaving the area slightly disturbed but otherwise concealed. And with that done, they retreated through the dark woods, collecting the offerings in the clearing before turning back toward the castle.

Standing at the edge of the grove, the prince once again considered returning to Southtown to let the Shepherds know he still lived. But he had made a promise -- one he fully intended to keep. And as Robin’s shadowed form slid through the brush behind him, Chrom turned to follow in her wake.

\-----

Within a fortnight, the prince had begun to understand the routine that Robin and Henry followed. Though ‘routine’ seemed an odd word for what they’d established. Aside from the changes she suffered through twice daily, nothing else seemed at all planned -- and after living on courtly schedules and marching orders for years, the relaxed nature of their existence left Chrom rather in awe.

Some days Robin went roaming afield, with or without Henry in tow. Some days they stayed close to the keep, and the mage hummed about doing mundane things like washing and mending. And sometimes, when Robin was gone from the castle, the prince caught Henry doing rather worrisome things with a collection of strange objects -- among them the blackened bones from the men he’d incinerated.

Chrom hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to ask about that yet.

But it was a quiet life they lived. And gradually the prince began to settle into it.

“So why are all the trees dying?”

“What?” 

“They’re turning weird colors!” Henry insisted, craning his neck up to stare at the leaves.

Chrom looked up at the canopy, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The forest had, in the last week, gone from green with hints of color to a blaze of fire as the nights grew colder. “They always do this,” the prince said, gathering up a few fallen branches.

“They always _die?_ How do they get so big, then?” the mage demanded.

“They’re not really dying,” the prince laughed. “They just shed their leaves. They’ll grow new ones come spring.”

“Really?” Henry tilted his head, watching a bright red leaf spiral down to the forest floor. “That seems weird.”

“You’ve never seen the leaves change before?”

“Leaves don’t turn colors and fall off unless a tree’s dying,” the mage insisted, scampering over to pick up the fallen item.

“Don’t you get autumn where you come from?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s -- it’s where the trees lose their leaves and the days get shorter and colder.” Were they really having this conversation?

“...well, we get something like that,” Henry agreed, tucking the leaf into his tunic. “The leaves don’t fall, but it cools off a little. And the nights get really long. And Robin has more good days.”

Chrom glanced toward the lake where she lay sprawled on the warm rocks, darker than the surrounding shadows. A flicker of violet fire proved that she was watching them, though he doubted she was close enough to hear their conversation. 

“What do you mean by good days?” the prince asked, tucking another stout branch under his arm. He’d heard the mage ask her every morning what sort of day it was, but hadn’t figured out yet what she based her judgments off of. She’d said over breakfast that the beautiful, crisp day was a bad one, which Chrom couldn’t begin to understand.

“What it sounds like,” Henry grinned. “Good days! When she’s happy and feels good.”

“And bad days are when she feels bad, I take it.”

“Bad days are hard days,” the mage said, collecting a few more bright leaves from the ground. “They’re when she needs company and nice things so she doesn’t forget. ...bad days are when she’s hurt herself.”

The prince looked back at the dark shape coiled on the rocks, remembering the broken scales around the stone in her chest. “...is that why you do things for her? The chores and the flowers?”

“I do those because I like her,” Henry replied. “It’s not like it’s hard, and it makes her feel better when she’s having a bad day.” Grinning, the mage took his handful of leaves and bounded off toward the lake, sneaking up through the shadows and dropping them one by one onto Robin’s nose. Chrom saw the dark shape shift, heard Henry’s shout of laughter, and watched as she pulled the mage down into a smothering embrace. 

Something about that sight lifted his flagging spirits. Smiling to himself, the prince shifted the kindling under his arm and moved through the fading light to join them.

\-----

The weather that had held for so long finally turned as the colors in the forest began to fade. The sound of rain woke Chrom shortly before dawn, and as he lay in the dark listening to the downpour beyond the walls, he felt Robin stir behind him.

“Good morning,” the prince ventured softly.

She stiffened as he turned, looking for her silhouette among the other shadows of the room -- but it was only when she sat up that he was able to find her. “I’m sorry if I woke you,” she murmured. 

“It was the rain,” he replied. “How long until sunrise?”

“Not long enough.”

“How can you tell?” Everything just looked dark to his eyes -- and the clouds would not help that, once day broke. 

“The stone burns.” He saw her, vaguely, lift a hand to her chest. “At first it’s just a prickle of discomfort. It gets worse as sunrise or sunset approach, until it feels like it’s on fire. And once the change is done, it stops.”

“How bad is it now?” he asked, sitting up beside her.

“More than a prickle. But not by much,” she admitted.

“Can you stay a bit longer, then?” It had been a while since they’d talked without Henry. Not that he didn’t enjoy the mage’s company, strange as it was, but...he’d begun to miss their evening conversations.

“...I suppose.”

He sensed, rather than saw, her smile as she settled on the edge of the bed. Moving to sit beside her, Chrom folded his hands, listening for a moment to the steady whisper outside. “So do you still go out when it rains?”

“It hasn’t been like this before,” she confessed. “There was a light rain soon after we arrived that lasted a few days, but it’s only been misty since. It sounds beautiful.”

“Does it not rain like this where you’re from?”

“Not often. Once a season, if we’re lucky, and it hardly ever rains besides.”

“How does anything grow?”

“There are springs. Rivers. Oases. Though nothing grows very far from the water, it’s...beautiful, in its own way. The ribbon of green through a brown valley, or a shimmer of color in the sand. But it’s nothing like Ylisse. It’s a shame all your trees are losing their leaves, though.”

“It’s normal,” the prince insisted. “It happens every year.”

“I thought that was just something they put in stories for poetic effect,” she muttered. 

The prince laughed, and after a moment, she joined in. Something about it warmed him, pushing back the morning chill. 

As silence settled again, Chrom glanced at the shadow beside him. “...do you miss it? Your home?”

“It was never my home,” she shrugged. “It was my prison. The first time I had a chance to see it from the outside was when Henry and I escaped. So there’s really not much to miss -- and the desserts you have here make me want to stay forever.”

“You’re always welcome to mine,” he chuckled. It was such a simple favor, but it had seemed to help her mood on her quietest of days.

“Chivalrous _and_ generous -- you must be the dream of every fair maiden in the land,” she teased.

“I likely am. Though not for the reasons you’re thinking.” He’d endured more than his fair share of courtships in the past few years, mostly with noble ladies seeking to tie their families’ fortunes to the ruling house of Ylisse. But the romances had all been hollow, and his duties as captain of the Shepherds had come as a welcome distraction, removing him from the courtly dramas for weeks at a time.

Robin made a small sound, pressing a hand to her chest. “Is it getting worse?” he murmured, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She nodded, touching his fingers briefly before rising to her feet. “I should go.”

“Can I come with you?” He’d never seen her change before. Every morning she’d been gone, and in the evenings Henry shooed him off before sunset.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

He caught her hand, folding her fingers gently between his own. “It’s still you in there,” he insisted. “Even if it’s not the right shape. It doesn’t change who you are.”

“...thank you.”

Her hand squeezed his, very briefly, before she pulled away. He watched her figure move through the dark, disappearing among the shadows of the hall, heard her steps fade from echoes to silence...

...and then he fell back across the bed, listening to the rain and waiting for any sign of sunrise.

The light did not dawn so much as creep into the room. Realizing that he could see the faint breaks in the stonework of the ceiling that had, when he was last paying attention, been a seamless void, the prince took to his feet and made his way down the dim hallway and winding stairs. Turning his steps toward the kitchen--

“Oh, hey! I thought you must’ve gone back to bed, sleepyhead.”

Chrom looked back to find Henry approaching from the opposite direction. “No, I just wasn’t sure when to come down. Is Robin outside?”

“Of course not!” the mage scoffed. “Have you _seen_ it out there? It’s crazy!”

“Where is she, then?”

“In the front! It’s the only place she can fit,” Henry snickered, bouncing his way back down the passage with the prince close behind. Stepping into the foyer, Chrom stared at the wall of water visible through the open doors. Robin lay sprawled on the stones just inside the archway, watching the downpour with rapt attention even as the mage nestled in against her side.

With the rain keeping them confined, the day passed quietly. While Henry cheerfully played with things it seemed safer not to think about, the prince wandered through the dusty rooms, idly searching for any sign of what family might have kept the castle before it fell to such disrepair. But any crests or carvings had worn away long ago, and eventually he made his way back to sit with Robin and watch the rain.

“So what are we gonna do about the offerings?” the mage asked, arranging a handful of shiny scales into a ring on the floor.

“You really think they’ll leave anything out in this weather?” Chrom couldn’t imagine anyone braving this storm unless they _had_ to.

“Pretty sure they will,” Henry laughed. “They’ve got some crazy folks in that town.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Not _that_ kinda crazy! The superstitious kind!”

“Is it really superstition if they’re right? There _is_ something in the woods. And she is protecting them.” In a way, at least.

“They think they’ve _gotta_ do it or she’ll leave,” the mage pointed out. “And she’d stick around even if they didn’t.”

**“The gesture is much appreciated, though. Hunting is tiresome and neither of us knows much about cooking.”**

“I can cook!” Henry protested.

**“You can char things past recognition. Which is a talent in and of itself.”**

“Awwww, you’re making me blush!” the mage giggled.

Rolling her eyes, Robin picked herself up, sending Henry toppling backward as she moved from behind him. “Are you going?” the prince asked.

“I guess,” the mage shrugged, scrambling to his feet. 

**“No. You’re staying here.”**

“How come!?” Henry whined.

**“Because you’ll catch your death out there.”**

“Well...well what about you!?”

**“I’m bigger than you and covered in scales. I don’t think I could catch a cold in this body if I wanted to.”**

“Well how are you going to carry anything back, huh?” the mage demanded.

“I’ll go with you.”

They both turned to look at the prince as he joined them. “What’s gonna keep _you_ from catching your death?” Henry asked.

“I’m used to long marches in harsh conditions,” Chrom shrugged. “A walk through the rain won’t kill me.” He’d fought in worse, after all.

**“...if you’re willing, I’d be grateful for the help.”**

“...don’t take too long,” the mage pouted. “It’s getting late.”

**“Not that late. We’ll be back soon.”**

She slipped out into the mist, and the prince followed close behind to keep from losing her in the downpour. Breaking into a run, he reached the top of the hill and the relative shelter of the trees in short order, turning back in time to see Robin’s dark shape lope into the shadows beside him.

It wasn’t as dry as having a roof overhead, but the trees at least offered some cover. For a few minutes they walked in silence, listening to the patter of rain on the leaves around them, and Chrom tried vainly to keep water from dripping into his eyes--

**“You didn’t have to come, you know.”**

“I know. But I wanted to.”

**“Why?”**

“I didn’t want you to go alone.”

**“Because I can’t manage on my own?”**

“No, because…”

He paused, swiping the hair out of his face. Tilting her head toward him, Robin fixed three violet eyes on him and waited for the prince to finish.

“...I wanted to spend the time with you,” he mumbled, his face starting to warm as she continued to stare. He thought he saw her smile as she turned her attention back to the trees.

**“You’ve made your point, Sir Chrom.”**

“What point?” Had he been trying to argue something with her?

**“That this shape does not change who I am. You don’t need to push yourself so hard trying to convince me.”**

“That’s not why I came.”

She paused, raising her head and turning all six glowing eyes toward him.

**“Then why?”**

“...because I enjoy your company.”

**“Even when I say nothing?”**

“You don’t always need to speak to be good company,” he replied. “It’s not about what’s said, or how much. It’s about who you’re with. And...I like being with you.”

Silence settled over them again as they moved along. The prince rolled his shoulders, his cape sticking uncomfortably to his skin and offering no protection at all from the chill. Maybe he’d been hasty, thinking he’d fare better than Henry in this weather: the cold Ylissean rain felt far different from that Feroxi snowstorm the Shepherds had encountered at the Longfort…

**“Thank you.”**

He glanced at her dark shape beside him, her scales gleaming in the weak light. “You don’t need to thank me.” It wasn’t as though he’d done anything. But she shook her head, scattering drops from her horns.

**“I do. I often forget that good company is more than talk. Henry never stops, and he’s been my only companion for a long time. I appreciate the reminder. And the reassurance. ...and the fine company.”**

Chrom smiled as an easy warmth kindled in his chest, taking the edge off the chill. “The pleasure’s mine.”

They said little else on the way to the clearing where, just as Henry had predicted, the offerings had been left crowded atop the stump under an oilskin tent. He considered, briefly, taking that along for added protection -- but he was already too wet for it to do much good. Gathering everything into his cape (and offering a brief thanks that the superstitious villagers had thought to wrap their gifts in woven grass and scraps of hide), the prince turned back toward the castle with Robin close beside him.

The return trip felt far shorter than the trek out to the grove. Perhaps because the weather seemed less hostile, with her great form sheltering him from the worst of the wind. But he was still soaked to the skin when they finally made it back through the castle doors. Henry flung his arms around Robin’s neck the moment she crossed under the arch, babbling senselessly in spite of her rumbled protests. As she shook the greater part of the water from her scales (which suddenly made her look like the puppy Henry had once compared her to), Chrom made his way to the kitchen, depositing their dinner on the counter before lighting a fire in the hearth to ease the chill in his bones.

When the mage finally arrived, he wasn’t alone.

Poor as it was, the flames offered enough light to see Robin as more than a mere shadow. She moved hesitantly, still finding her balance after a day spent in another body -- but when she looked up at him, he saw her smile.

“Good evening,” he murmured as she picked her way closer.

“Good evening,” she replied. “You should really do something about those clothes, you know.”

“I would if I had anything else to wear,” he sighed. He hadn’t exactly packed before leaving Southtown--

“Here.”

Sitting beside him, she shrugged out of her coat and held it toward him. “It may not fit well,” she warned, “but it’s always been too big for me, so maybe you’ll have better luck. And it’s better than sitting around in wet clothes all night.”

“...thank you.” Taking it in shaky hands, the prince moved politely out of the firelight, peeling off his drenched outer garments (and thanking Henry, awkwardly, for the towel he offered) before pulling on the heavy coat.

In spite of its weight, the fabric had long ago been worn soft by use. And though it was rather tight around the shoulders, it otherwise fit well enough. But most importantly, it was warm and dry.

Moving back to join Robin and Henry, Chrom settled by the fire again, letting the heat work its way under his skin. He said very little over supper, paying only vague attention to Henry’s usual chatter...but he did appreciate that Robin slipped him an extra drumstick when she snatched his tart.

As the fire died down to embers, the prince excused himself, dreading the walk through the dark, cold halls -- but as he reached a hand out to follow the wall, footsteps hurried up the passage behind him. “Sorry,” Robin laughed. “I just had to take care of the fire before Henry turned in, because I know he’d forget about it.”

“You didn’t need to rush,” Chrom said. Though a part of him was glad to have her company.

“I know, but it’s been a long day. I think we could all do with some rest.”

“I won’t argue with that,” he chuckled. He felt her arm link with his as they walked, her steps easy and far more confident than his own in the darkness, and gladly followed her lead down the hallway, up the stairs, and on to the bedroom. Sliding under the soft coverlet and waiting for the space around him to lose its chill, he suddenly missed the small comforts of Ylisstol castle -- namely bed warmers, though a hearth would have suited him just as well--

“Are you still cold?”

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “It just takes a few minutes to warm up.”

He felt her shift behind him.

And then she settled at his side, close enough to touch -- and more than close enough for her warmth to fill the narrow space between them.

“Is this alright?” she asked.

Well, he certainly felt sheepish. This was a rather awkward situation -- likely for the both of them, given all the care she had taken up to now to maintain the unspoken boundaries of _his_ side of the bed and _hers._

...but it was warm. 

“...if you don’t mind it,” he mumbled.

She laughed softly, nestling an inch closer as she curled up to sleep. “Pleasant dreams, Sir Chrom.”

“Good night, Robin.” Pulling her coat slightly closer, the prince settled into the comforting heat and let the whisper of rain lull him to sleep.

\-----

The rain eased overnight and lifted entirely in the days that followed, though the sky never fully cleared. Robin stayed close to the castle, though it seemed to have far less to do with her mood than the rapidly shortening days: even when she did roam away from the keep, with either Henry or the prince for company, she rarely strayed farther than the edge of the grove near Southtown.

As the last of the leaves finally lost their color and began to fall, a deep cold settled over the valley. The nights, at least, seemed far kinder with Robin’s warmth beside him. Always just shy of touch, but close enough to chase away the chill. And Chrom had stocked enough decent wood over the prior weeks to last at least a short while.

“So what is it you’re doing?” 

Henry looked up from his ring of scales and thread, tilting his head at the prince loading kindling into the kitchen hearth. “What? This?”

“Yeah. I’ve been meaning to ask for a while. I see you playing with those things a lot.” After putting it off for so long, curiosity had finally gotten the better of him. And with Robin out on her own for the afternoon, it seemed as good a time as any to pose the question.

“I’m hoping it’ll get the stone off Robin. Once I get it worked out, that is,” the mage mumbled, drawing swirls across the floor beside him. “I’ve tried a bunch of things already but they haven’t worked right, so this one’s gotta be extra special.”

“That’s not like any spell I’ve ever seen,” Chrom admitted. “I thought you used tomes to do magic.”

“Well, of course you use tomes for magic,” Henry laughed. “But this is _different._ This isn’t about making fire show up out of nowhere, this is about making _things_ happen.”

“Isn’t fire out of nowhere a thing?”

“Well, yeah, but -- that’s not what I mean! This doesn’t make stuff show up, it just...makes things happen. Like...like I’ve got one that makes things float. Oh, and another one that makes people talk in gibberish! That one’s fun.”

“Not for the person spouting nonsense, I bet,” the prince muttered.

“But it’s magic that makes stuff _happen._ It doesn’t make _things,_ it does stuff _to_ things.”

“...I think I understand,” Chrom lied, moving away from the fireplace. Henry grinned, bouncing up from his place on the floor and pulling out his tome. “Whoa, wait a minute!” Chrom protested. “There won’t be anything left if you do that!”

“...how else do you light a fire?”

The prince rolled his eyes. “Like this.” He moved to collect a few handfuls of dry leaves and twigs from the stash he’d amassed, making a neat pile close to the larger branches in the hearth. Removing a bit of flint from the pouch at his side, he struck sparks across the tinder, coaxing them gently to life and watching the tiny flames eat through the papery leaves, into the smaller branches, and finally into the rest of the kindling, spreading into a crackling blaze from there.

“...that doesn’t seem as fun,” the mage pouted.

“But it does get you a fire and not a bunch of ash,” the prince noted. 

“I guess.” Turning back to his odd assortment of objects, Henry flopped back down on the stones, casting about in the pouches at his side for something else to throw into the mix.

“So what are you trying to do here, exactly?” Chrom asked, picking up the earlier thread of conversation.

“Well, I can’t unbind it -- I tried, but it sort of...rolled off? It didn’t actually do anything to the stone like I wanted. Made her hair look nice, though. Anyway, I’m thinking maybe...maybe I gotta cast it on the _stone,_ not on _her,_ like I did with the ward, but then I’ve gotta figure out how to pull just _it_ off without leaving a big hole in her chest. It would help if I had something to practice on,” he muttered.

“...good luck.” The prince had no intention of offering himself up as a test subject. “Come find me when Robin gets back. I’ll be in the front.”

“Okie-dokie!” the mage giggled. Shaking his head, Chrom made his way down the dimming hallways and into the softly lit foyer, removing Falchion from its sheath as he paused in the middle of the room. It had been a while since he’d trained, but the blade still fit comfortably in his hands, as much a part of himself as the arm that held it. The motions were still familiar, and his stiffness eased as he followed the steps he’d memorized so long ago. 

Slice. Block. Thrust. Parry. Ordinarily he’d have a sparring partner, or a dummy to train with, or at least his shadow to follow, but sunset had stolen even that last bit of light, leaving him with just the blade’s inherent glow--

Wait.

Keeping his sword in hand, Chrom made his way back through the castle to the kitchen. As soft firelight painted the wall ahead, the prince slowed his pace, his heart beginning to race. He could think of very few things that might delay Henry -- if there had been some kind of attack…

Peering around the archway, Chrom found the room empty. The door to the courtyard stood open: striding across to the doorframe, he leaned just far enough to see out…

...and saw the pale-haired mage pacing in the dark, wringing his cloak between his hands.

Somehow, that did not ease the prince’s mind.

“What’s going on?” he called, sheathing Falchion as he made his way down the stairs.

Henry whirled and flung himself at Chrom. “I don’t know where she is!”

“She didn’t come back?”

“No! She _always_ comes back before sundown, she _always_ gets back in time but she didn’t come back and I don’t know what to _do_ I can’t scry for her I don’t know how to find her she’s out there alone and cold and--”

“Henry.”

The mage didn’t respond, continuing on with his panicked babble. The prince took a step forward, putting one hand on each of Henry’s shoulders to stop his frenzied pacing. “ _Henry._ Calm down.”

“But--”

“No buts. I’ll go look for her.”

That, at least, got the mage’s attention. “You will?”

“Yes,” Chrom replied patiently. “You stay here and wait. If she makes it back on her own, somebody will need to be around to meet her. Okay?”

“...okay,” Henry nodded. “Okay, I can...I can do that.”

“Good.” Patting the mage’s shoulder, the prince strode out of the courtyard and into the dark forest, praying that he would find her safe and sound. And hoping above all else that he could find her at all.

***

In what little time they had been in Ylisse, Robin had never thought to miss the desert. The warm, pleasant days and nights following their arrival had been a blessing after the scorching heat and bitter cold of the Plegian sands. And even as the daylight hours shortened and cooled she had not minded, since her shape in daylight felt things strangely and by night she had a warm fire and close company to help keep the cold at bay.

But now, huddled alone among the roots of a tree with only her own skin for protection, she missed the desert and its lingering heat through the first hours of twilight.

Gods, it was cold.

She still had a way to go before she made it back. And if she didn’t start walking again soon, she would likely freeze. Gods, poor Henry must be worried sick, and she had no way of getting word to him -- even if it made her feet ache, she had to make it back--

A noise caught her attention. Distant, echoing through the woods. Lifting her head, she closed her eyes, focusing the whole of her concentration on listening for a sound in the dark…

_“ROBIN!”_

“H-hello?” she called back. It might be one of her father’s men, but...none of them would ever use that name. It had to be someone she knew. Someone she would want to find her.

She strained to hear the voice again, praying that her own had been strong enough to reach whoever sought her out -- please, please, let her cry be heard--

“Robin!”

The shout sounded much closer this time. And now she recognized it.

“Chrom?”

She had not expected him to come searching for her. But she could not deny that a rush of relief went through her all the same as steps approached through the fallen leaves and a shadow moved through the softer dark. “I’m here!” 

The shape stopped. Just for an instant. And then it moved closer, resolving into a familiar figure. “Robin?”

“I would say ‘good evening,’ but it hasn’t been terribly good so far,” she said, mustering up as much good humor as she could manage.

He laughed softly in return, kneeling by the tree where she’d chosen to rest. “I think everyone would agree with you. Henry’s going out of his mind.”

“I was afraid of that,” she sighed.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I was just waylaid dealing with a raider camp.” She’d have made it back in time, if only she hadn’t stopped to rout those rogues. But the longer they went unchecked, the greater the danger, so…

“At least that’s one piece of good news. Shall we go?”

He held his hand out to her, and she folded her arms more tightly across her bare chest. Thank Grima for the shadows that kept her at least partly concealed -- though the knight seemed to have noticed her trouble at last.

“Oh. That...would be a problem.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “It’s made the trek this far less than pleasant.”

Chrom fussed for a moment with the clasp at his shoulder before removing his cape, offering it to her through the dark. “It’s not much,” he apologized. 

“It’s far better than what I have now,” she replied. _Anything_ was better than nothing. Drawing the heavy cloth around her shoulders, Robin picked herself up from the roots, stepping out into the dry leaves--

Her feet left the ground.

Tamping down a yelp of surprise, she turned a wide-eyed stare on the knight who had, quite literally, swept her off her feet. “I doubt walking has been very pleasant, either,” he remarked.

That was unfortunately true.

Shifting her weight in his arms, Chrom offered a gentle smile. “Is this alright?” She managed a small, rather sheepish nod, pulling his cape closer with trembling fingers. “Good. It’s not too far, and there should be a fire waiting…”

He paused, looking up toward the cloudy sky. She followed his gaze, seeing nothing--

Something cold brushed against her cheek.

Reaching carefully up to touch it, she felt more flutters of ice across her arm. And now that she looked more closely, she thought she saw small shapes dancing through the air, disappearing as they lit on her skin. “What…?”

“Looks like it’s snowing,” Chrom murmured.

She’d read about snow. And she’d thought that had been for poetic effect, too. Ice floating from the sky, turning the ground white? It had seemed like a fantasy, coming from the desert…

“Let me guess. You’ve never seen snow before, either?”

She laughed, settling in his arms as he began to walk. “I take it this is normal, too, then?”

“It’s a bit early, actually,” the knight admitted. “But it does happen every year.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“You should see it in the light. With your own eyes.”

She smiled at that thought. “Maybe someday.”

His arms tightened around her. “Hopefully soon.”

Laying her head briefly against his shoulder, she watched the snow drift past. It didn’t feel so cold anymore, where she rested in his arms. And the silence around them felt just as warm.

As they crossed under the ruined arch, she saw Henry pacing in the light beyond the castle door. He stopped as Chrom approached, and Robin offered a wave an instant before the mage launched himself across the courtyard, nearly knocking everyone to the ground as he flung his arms around her.

“ _Robin!!_ I’ve been so worried where have you been what _happened_ you didn’t show up on time and then you _kept_ not showing up and it’s so cold and now the clouds are shedding and--”

“It’s snow, Henry,” she laughed, wrapping an arm around the mage’s shoulders.

“Snow’s not a real thing,” Henry argued as Chrom reluctantly released her to the mage.

“Yes it is,” the knight protested.

“That’s what you said about the trees, too, but they look really dead to me,” Henry replied, marching Robin up the stairs. Her clothes had been laid out close to the fire, leaving them blissfully warm to the touch, and she nearly melted as that heat covered her cold skin. Settling close to the mage over supper, she explained what had delayed her, repeatedly insisting that she was fine, she hadn’t been hurt, her feet were a little sore but he really didn’t have to worry anymore...and eventually Henry calmed, snuggling in against her side.

“I was really scared something happened to you,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” she murmured, petting his pale hair gently. “I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

“You’d better,” he sniffled, hugging her tight. “At least let me come with you next time.”

“Of course,” she agreed.

That, at last, seemed to satisfy him. Enough to send her off to bed with a warning that if she caught a cold he’d have to hex her. Which, from Henry, was not a threat at all.

Away from the fire, though, she very quickly felt the chill creep back over her. Wrapping her coat a bit tighter, she hurried on toward bed without hesitation, nestling down under the blankets and waiting for the warmth to take hold again.

She felt Chrom settle behind her, and tried to quell her shivering. It didn’t seem terribly effective, but he made no remark on it, so--

“Are you still cold?”

“...a bit,” she lied through chattering teeth.

He said nothing for a moment. She felt him shift, and considered lifting her hood in case that might keep a bit more warmth close--

His arm settled over her, drawing her gently against him.

She went very still, keenly aware of his every breath, the rise and fall of his chest against her back, the heat of his embrace. She and Henry had nestled together for warmth during the cold desert nights on their way to Ylisse -- but this felt _nothing_ like that.

“Is this alright?” he asked. She could _feel_ the soft rumble of his voice as he spoke.

“...y-yes,” she mumbled, her face beginning to burn.

“Sleep well, then, Robin,” he chuckled.

“...and you. Pleasant dreams, Sir Chrom.”

And for once, she did not lie awake in the dark waiting for sleep. His warmth around her had banished the chill, both from the night air and her own fears. But the curious warmth in her chest put it quite to shame.


	5. A Promised Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an attempt to break the curse goes frighteningly wrong, Chrom decides to return to the Shepherds and make for capital, hoping that a scholar may have more answers. Many things go unsaid with his departure -- but what awaits the prince in Ylisstol will break far more than his promise...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~And this chapter was written 100% on mobile because now the habit has formed.~~
> 
> I have now caught up on my backlog from my Internet outage, but I somehow don't think that will keep another chapter from showing up sooner rather than later. Just. I can't stop writing and it's _great._
> 
> More perspective breaks in this chapter! Just as a reminder, dashes (-) indicate a change of scene, while (*) indicate a change of perspective. Just so that you know what to expect going forward. 
> 
> And thank you once again to **[AcquaSole](archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole)** for beta review on your gift fic (and for all of the boundless encouragement and inspiration you keep giving me to write this piece)!

Henry knew as soon as she came into the kitchen that something had happened. She could see it written in the ear-to-ear grin on his face. Sliding around the table to join her as she sat down for breakfast, he propped his head on his hands and waited for her to say something.

But Robin had no intention of confessing to anything.

Instead, she ate in silence, thinking about how warm she had been when she woke. The even rhythm of Chrom’s breath as he slept. The weight of his arm around her waist when she reluctantly slid out into the predawn gloom, rather later than she usually preferred but--

“Soooooooo?”

“So what?” she asked over a bite of a peach tart. Fresh fruits were few and far between now, but the baked ones were just as good (or better, sometimes).

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” he snickered, bumping her shoulder.

“Am I not allowed to be in a good mood when I wake up?” she asked.

“Sure you are! But this isn’t your usual good day good mood. Sooooo what happened?”

“Why do you think anything happened?” she insisted. But she could feel the color rising in her cheeks, and knew the mage had noticed it, too. “It wasn’t anything, really.” No matter what the warm feeling in her chest implied, it was probably just a kind gesture…

“Nooooo, it was something,” Henry teased. “What happened? Come on, come on, tell meeeeee~”

“We just. Slept close. It was cold, and…”

“Close like we slept in the desert?” 

She worried her face might catch fire. But she nodded, taking another bite of tart as an excuse not to speak.

“Do you liiiiiike him?” the mage pressed.

“Of course I do! He’s been kind, it’s difficult not to like someone who treats you well--”

“Not _that_ kind of like!”

Robin knew it wasn’t. But she’d hoped it might be enough to placate him.

“...I don’t know.”

Henry nudged her shoulder again as she leaned against the table, her fingers rubbing the warm facets of the stone bound to her chest. “I don’t know what I’m feeling. It’s not...it’s not what I feel when I’m with you. It’s...I feel warm around him. At ease. I feel... _safe_ with him.”

She’d almost forgotten how comforting it was. That sense of protection, the _belief_ that nothing could harm her -- she’d been a child the last time she’d known it, hiding from monsters in a coat much too big for her. It fit her better now. But it had long ago lost whatever magic she’d thought it possessed.

“...are you gonna tell him?”

“Why would I do that?” she asked, picking at her tart without enthusiasm.

“Because it’s important! If you don’t tell him, how’s he gonna know?”

“Why does he need to know?”

“Because it’s _important!”_

_“Why?”_

“Because he likes you, too!”

She scoffed, hunching her shoulders and folding her arms on the edge of the table. “He only _likes_ me because he hasn’t figured out I’m Plegian. And I doubt he likes me _that_ way.”

“He does,” Henry insisted.

“You’d better not be messing with those stupid love hexes--”

“I wouldn’t do that to you again!”

“Yeah, you’d _better_ not.”

“But I mean it. He likes you! As soon as I told him you weren’t back yet, he said he was gonna go find you.”

“He’s a knight. Chivalry is part of their code of honor.”

“And he asks about you a lot.”

“I’m cursed. It’s a novelty.”

“He always gives you his dessert.”

“I always _steal_ his dessert.”

“But he _lets_ you!”

“Maybe he doesn’t like sweets.”

“Or maybe he likes _you!”_

Robin sighed, burying her face in her hands. Arguing with Henry tended to get her nowhere.

“Why would he like me?” she mumbled as the mage leaned his head against her shoulder.

“Because you’re really nice. And smart. And pretty--”

“Not in the daytime.”

“ _Prettier_ in the daytime.”

She shook her head as Henry snuggled closer against her side. “You know how I feel about that.”

“I know. But I still think you’re pretty that way. And he doesn’t mind it, either. He wouldn’t go out with you if he did.”

...the knight had said that he enjoyed her company. Her mind insisted that there was nothing more than friendship there, but...he’d carried her back, he’d held her through the night, and the rhythm of his breath had lulled her into a sleep filled with warm dreams...

“You can’t know that.”

“Can so.”

“What, you have a mind-reading hex now?”

“ _No!_...that’s a really good idea, though--”

“Henry, don’t hex people without their permission.”

“I know, I know. But I don’t need a hex to know he _likes_ you.”

She sighed again, wincing as the gemstone’s heat intensified. She still had time. But not much. Hurriedly finishing off her breakfast, Robin slipped out of her clothes, pulling her coat back on as an afterthought. So long as she shed it before the change, it would be fine; and as cold as the night had been, she would likely need it when she left the warmth of the kitchen.

The stones in the hallway froze her feet as she walked to the main foyer. Shrugging out of her coat, she glanced through the crack in the door. But she saw no white blanket on the ground, no shimmer of ice. Only darkness. If any of the snow had survived the night, she couldn’t tell.

Someday. Someday she would see it with her own eyes.

But as the shadows tore her apart, she knew that it would not be today.

***

No more than a dusting of snow had fallen through the night, and that did not outlast the sunny morning. Robin seemed disappointed, but made no complaint as they headed out together, Henry perched once again on her shoulders.

She hadn’t been exaggerating when she called it a camp. A fire pit full of unburned wood sat in the middle of the ruined tents, and bags of supplies littered the ground alongside the corpses.

Something about the scene made him uneasy. “Was it like this when you left yesterday?”

**“Yes.”**

Her voice sounded strained as she slunk around the wreckage. “This seems strange,” the prince ventured. The last band she had dealt with were scouts at best, lightly supplied, and not prepared for a long stay. This...judging by their weapons, this looked like a small war party.

**“This doesn’t feel right.”**

Chrom watched as Henry hummed around the camp, picking over the bodies for anything of interest. “Y’know, it’s kinda funny,” the mage remarked. “These guys don’t have emblems on ‘em.”

“So they’re unallied?” Why would a mercenary band be camped south of the capital? Even with the halidom’s recent bandit problems, Emm wasn’t the sort to hire warriors -- and if she had, they’d be carrying Ylissean banners...

**“I don’t like this.”**

“Neither do I,” the prince muttered. Robin was right: nothing about the scene made sense. It made him uneasy. 

“I’ll like it more once it’s on fire,” Henry laughed.

**“Do it.”**

The mage did not hesitate. Flames devoured the wreckage in an instant, leaving little more than a few charred blades among the smouldering embers. Robin buried them carefully under the damp leaf litter before turning back to the keep with Chrom and Henry in tow.

“What do you think it means?” the prince asked.

**“I don’t know.”**

But it clearly bothered her. They spoke little through the afternoon, the uncomfortable silence broken only by the mage’s muttering as he fussed about with his strange spell. In desperate need of a better distraction than Henry’s conversation to himself, Chrom made his way outside and took up his blade. Focusing on the motions helped push everything else out of his mind, and by the time sunset stole the last light from the sky, he felt at least slightly more relaxed. 

It was Robin who came to fetch him for once, stepping gingerly out into the dark as he sheathed his blade. “Good evening, Sir Chrom,” she murmured, pulling her coat closer to stave off the chill.

“Good evening, Robin.” The prince turned as she approached, moving to meet her -- and as she stumbled on the uneven flagstones, he gently caught her arm. “Careful.”

“Sorry,” she laughed. “I’m still a little unsteady.”

“You don’t need to rush,” he chuckled. “But I am glad to see you.”

She smiled up at him, and that soft warmth kindled again in his chest. “We should go inside,” she prompted. “It’s freezing out here.”

He’d lost track of that for a moment. Slipping one arm around her shoulders, the prince guided her back through the doors -- and as they left the moonlight, her hand settled on his arm, leading him through the dark to the kitchen where Henry sat waiting at the table--

“I got it!!”

Both Chrom and Robin jumped at the mage’s triumphant cry. “Got what?” she asked.

“The spell! I finally got it! One of those guys today had a ring with a stone in it so I figured I could use that to test things out and it worked!” Bounding around the table, Henry proudly presented a silver ring with an empty setting in one palm, a large garnet in the other.

“I’m impressed,” the prince admitted.

“You really think it’ll work?” Robin asked, her hand fluttering against her chest.

“Posi-lutely!” the mage laughed. “Hair, please!”

“Hair?” Chrom repeated, watching as she combed her fingers through a stubborn snarl and produced several long strands. Henry snatched them up and scampered back to the table, threading them through the circle of scales and other objects.

“You need special materials for these spells,” Robin explained, moving to stand by the hearth. “Every object has unique properties, and various combinations and arrangements produce all kinds of effects. But the only way to focus them on something bigger than a ring is to have a personal item in the mix -- hair is easy and painless.”

“All set!” The mage grinned up at her, bouncing lightly in place. “You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied. “Have at it, Henry.”

The mage turned to the objects on the table, laying one hand on either side of the ring and going very still. Was it Chrom’s imagination, or was the air around Henry suddenly rippling? Glancing toward Robin, he saw nothing unusual: she stood still, eyes closed, waiting for something to happen--

Pain creased her expression.

“Stop it, Henry.”

Her voice sounded choked. The prince saw her lift her hands to her chest, trying again to speak, but no sound came out at all. Moving cautiously closer, Chrom realized he could hear her breaths coming in sharp gasps as she curled inward, her shoulders wracked by violent tremors--

_“Henry!!”_

The prince’s roar snapped the mage out of his trance. As Robin collapsed, Chrom lunged, snatching her up and easing her to the floor. He felt her sob as he smoothed the hair away from her face, trying to still her shaking with a touch as words failed him--

“Robin?”

The prince looked up as Henry crept toward them, his face paler than usual and his hands fretfully wringing the edge of his tunic. “I-I’m sorry,” the mage whimpered. “I didn’t mean to, I really thought it would work, I wasn’t trying to…”

“I know.”

Chrom felt her shift, saw her reach out, and watched as Henry caught her fingers and held them fast. “It’s not your fault,” she breathed. “It seemed like a good idea.”

“But it didn’t work and it _hurt_ a-and--”

“It’s okay, Henry. You’ll come up with something even better next time.” The mage mustered up a weak smile at her encouragement, scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Is the ward…?”

Henry reached out to her with a shaky hand, nodding after a moment’s pause. “It’s okay.”

“Good.”

She moved, trying to push herself upright -- and the prince tightened his grip, very slightly, drawing her close again. “Take it easy,” he murmured. “Just stay down for a minute.”

She did not protest. And as her weight settled back, he folded his arms around her, waiting for her trembling to ease.

It took a long time. And it never quite stopped, even when the mage finally helped her to the table. She said little else through the evening, picking over her supper and paying no attention to the desserts Henry tried so insistently to push toward her before quietly excusing herself.

As Chrom rose to follow, something tugged on his cape. Looking back, he found Henry worrying the edge between his hands, never quite meeting Chrom’s eye.

Something about that look reminded him of Lissa.

“What is it, Henry?” the prince asked gently.

“...take care of her. Okay?”

Chrom patted the mage’s shoulder. “She’ll be alright. She just needs some rest.” He hoped that was all she needed, at least.

“You’ll make sure?” Henry pleaded.

“I will. I promise.”

That seemed to satisfy the mage enough to let the prince go. Giving Henry one final reassuring pat, Chrom made his way out of the firelight and into the dark halls. He doubted Robin could have made it far--

He didn’t see her at all before he bumped into her, throwing a hand out to catch her as she stumbled. “I really think you need to consider candles,” he chuckled.

“I’m beginning to think you’re right.”

At least her humor remained intact.

Slipping one arm around her shoulders, the prince guided them through the dark, following the wall with his free hand until it opened onto the winding stair. “Can you make it?” he murmured. Narrow as the passage was, he doubted he could carry her up…

“I’ll manage.”

She moved with care, and he followed close behind, watching her shadow in case she faltered. But his fears were, thankfully, unfounded as she stepped out into the upper hall, leaning into his touch as his arm settled around her again.

He tried to think of something to say as they walked through the bars of moonlight. But nothing came to him. Nothing that might help, at least. So they moved in silence through the far doorway, and Robin slipped away into the dark.

Chrom followed, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Are you alright?” he asked. The answer seemed obvious, and he hated the words, but he had to break past the silence somehow. And he couldn’t see any better way to start.

He felt her shift, turning toward him under the coverlet. “I think I will be.”

“You only think?”

“Henry stopped before it got too bad.”

“That could have gotten _worse?”_

“...those spells can be fatal.”

He turned, searching blindly for her in the shadows. A slight movement drew his attention, and he caught her hand as she tried to pull the blankets closer.

“Is that why you agreed?” he demanded.

“Gods, no,” she mumbled. “I would never let Henry kill me.”

“Just me?”

“Just anyone that isn’t Henry.”

“He’d probably have the easiest time of it,” the prince growled…

...and instantly regretted the harsh words, even before Robin pulled her hand away and pushed herself upright.

“It would kill him,” she replied, her voice cutting through the dark. “It was hard enough for him to agree to the hunt, and you _saw_ him when this went wrong -- after _everything_ he’s done for me, everything he’s _tried_ just to keep me here, if he _killed_ me trying to _save_ me?”

“I’m sorry,” Chrom apologized. “I wasn’t thinking.”

She sighed after a moment, moving to sit beside him. “He wasn’t trying to hurt me,” she murmured.

“I know,” the prince nodded. “It scared me, though.”

“It scared me, too.”

He didn’t quite dare to touch her again, after that thoughtless remark. But when his hand settled in the space between them, his fingers brushed across hers -- and before he could draw back, she folded her hand over his.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked.

“It aches. You know, it felt like it was working for a moment. But...the stone wouldn’t budge. So the spell started trying to pull everything else out, instead.”

“Henry said the last thing he tried...rolled off it?”

“Well, it is cursed,” she sighed. “If curses were easy to break, people wouldn’t be so afraid of them.”

She had a point. Curses were things from children’s stories, meant to scare them into good behavior. They hardly seemed real…

...but they _were_ real. So someone must have studied them, written about them--

“I might know someone who can help.”

He sat up, his fingers tightening on hers. “There’s a school devoted to magic studies in the capital. One of the mages there is...well, brilliant. She studies anything and everything. If anyone would know about curses and how to break them, it would be her -- and if she doesn’t know, she can probably find something in the library.”

“I can’t go to the capital,” Robin protested.

“I can, though,” Chrom insisted. “I’ll find out what I can, and if there’s an answer I can bring it back.”

“...why are you doing all this?”

Chrom smiled, folding her hand in his. “I promised you, remember?”

“...that you did,” she chuckled. “You’re very kind, Sir Chrom.”

“You’re worth it.”

He saw her lift her head, felt her stare. And he smiled, closing the space between them so that their shoulders touched.

After a moment, she leaned against him. “When will you leave?” she murmured.

“Tomorrow, if the weather’s fair,” he replied. “Ylisstol isn’t far. If I start early, I can meet my friends in Southtown and still make it to the capital by sundown.”

“What will you tell them?” she asked, her free hand touching her chest.

“Hopefully they won’t ask too many questions,” he muttered. Vaike would probably demand to know why the prince hadn’t brought back a trophy. Frederick would be the hardest to distract, but so long as he didn’t let the great knight catch him alone, he could probably avoid too many hard questions…

“...when do you think you’ll be back?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “It depends on how soon I can find an answer. But I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She did not speak for a moment, and for the first time since he uncovered her secret, Chrom sensed that something was going unsaid in the silence. But before he could ask, she moved away. “You’ll have a long day ahead of you,” she noted. “You should rest as much as you can.”

He doubted those were the words she’d wanted to say.

But he did not press. Slipping under the coverlet, he gently wrapped his arm around her, feeling the faint tremors still running through her--

She nestled closer, tucking her head under his chin.

“Pleasant dreams, Sir Chrom,” she breathed.

“...sleep well, Robin,” he replied, tightening his embrace. “Rest easy.”

The nights would seem much colder without her there beside him. But the sooner he found an answer, the sooner he could return to this. To her.

Morning would still come too soon.

\-----

Chrom woke before dawn with Robin still asleep in his arms. And rather than rise and prepare for his journey, the prince curled closer around her, listening to her easy, quiet breaths. After the scare last night, he’d been worried...but it seemed that rest had helped.

Thank the gods for small blessings.

She stirred, nestling against him in the dark. “Good morning,” he murmured.

“There’s nothing good about morning,” she mumbled. 

“I don’t know,” he chuckled. “This one seems rather nice so far.”

She made an unintelligible noise, burying her face in the blankets. And he laughed, letting her sit up before joining her on the edge of the bed. 

Glancing over at her, he sobered as she lifted a hand to her chest. “When will you leave?” she asked.

“After dawn,” he replied. It would be easier with the sun lighting his way. And it meant he could stay a moment longer.

“You should have breakfast before you go.”

“...that would be nice,” he agreed. 

“Shall we, then?” Standing up, she offered her hand down to him -- and he smiled, accepting as he rose from the bedside. She had no trouble moving through the predawn dark, leading him down to the kitchen where Henry huddled by the hearth.

He looked up as they arrived -- and when Robin smiled, a brilliant grin overtook the mage’s face. While Henry scrambled over to fling his arms around his companion, Chrom moved to feed the banked fire, restoring heat and light both to the room that had at last regained its cheer.

Whatever appetite Robin had lacked the night before returned in force as they settled around the table: everything the mage pushed in her direction disappeared, and she still snuck a hand out for the prince’s tart (which he pretended not to see). They talked. They laughed. And for a moment, Chrom put aside thoughts of the day ahead, and let their company lift his spirits.

But only for a moment. Robin’s voice cut off mid-word as she pressed a hand to her chest, frustration clouding the cheer in her expression. “Sunrise?” the prince murmured. She nodded, running a hand over her hair as she slid away from the table. “Can I come with you?”

She managed a faint smile. “I’d still rather you didn’t.”

Chrom nodded, touching her arm as she moved past. “I’ll find something.”

“I hope so.”

Her fingers lit on his. And then she continued on with the mage close at her heels, disappearing into the hall.

He would miss this. Placing a few more branches on the fire, all he could think of was how strange things would be when he returned to the Shepherds. He’d started to settle into the easy pace of life here. Back in the capital...it would be hectic. He’d set aside his duties for so long -- he would deserve Frederick’s inevitable lecture. But so long as he could steal a moment to find Miriel, to start searching…

“So you’re going?”

The prince glanced up as Henry crouched down beside him. “That’s the plan. I’ll head to the capital and see what I can find there.”

“...it’ll be weird not having you around.”

Chrom patted the mage’s shoulder. “I’ll be back before you can start missing me.”

“Wow, that’s quick! Are you gonna fly? That would be _awesome--_ ”

“No, I’m not flying,” the prince laughed. “But I’ll try not to take too long. You’ll watch out for Robin while I’m gone?”

“Of course!” Henry nodded.

“Good. I’ll see you soon, Henry.” Taking to his feet, Chrom made his way down the passage to the entry hall and out into the weak dawn light. Robin sat by the crumbled arch, tilting her head toward the prince as he approached.

**“Are you going?”**

“The sooner I head out, the sooner I can start looking for answers.”

**“I’ll walk with you.”**

“I’d be glad for the company.”

She rose with care, rolling her shoulders before starting up the hill at his side. The first time he’d walked these woods, the trees were green, the brush too thick to see past, and he had been so sure danger stalked him through the dark. Now the bare branches cast strange shadows across the forest floor, and her calm presence made the silence easy, even pleasant, to bear.

The sun had not risen far when they arrived at the clearing. And to Chrom’s surprise, Robin moved out of the dense undergrowth, her scales shining in the low light. She hadn’t set foot in the grove since he’d accepted her challenge. 

So much had changed since they were last here.

**“This is as far as I go.”**

It was farther than he’d expected. “I’ll be back,” he assured her. “Soon.”

She nodded, turning her violet eyes on him. A silent moment passed, and he struggled to voice everything he wanted to say before they parted ways -- why was it so hard to find the words--

_“CHROM!!”_

He jumped at the shout, turning toward the trail leading back to Southtown. “Lissa?” he called.

The brush at the far end of the clearing rustled, and then his sister stumbled out, mud on her boots and her headdress slightly askew. She stared for a minute, rubbing her eyes (and nearly hitting herself with her staff in the process) as though she didn’t believe what she was seeing. And then she bolted across the grove, flinging her arms around him and hugging him tight.

“It’s nice to see you, too,” he chuckled, glancing over his shoulder -- but Robin had vanished back into the dark. A faint pang struck him at her absence. He hadn’t even managed to say goodbye.

Lissa was saying something. In his defense, though, with her face buried in his chest, he wouldn’t have been able to make out her words even if he had been listening. “What was that?” he asked.

There were tears in her eyes as she lifted her head. “Where have you _been,_ you dumb jerk!? Everybody’s been worried _sick,_ we thought you might be _dead_ you stupid--stupid --”

“I missed you, too,” he murmured, hugging her tight. She clung to him for a long time, her shoulders shaking as he smoothed her pigtails and waited for her to calm. “Feel better?” he asked when she finally pulled back, wiping her eyes with the edge of her sleeve.

“I kinda want to hit you,” she mumbled. Tousling her hair, the prince put an arm around her shoulders and turned them toward Southtown, casting one final glance over his shoulder in hopes of seeing a trace of fire in the dark, a movement in the brush…

...but all he saw were bare trees and brambles, vanishing from sight as they started down the narrow trail.

***

Robin watched from the shadows as Chrom and his companions made their way north along the main road. She and Henry had taken great pains to avoid such thoroughfares on their journey east: she had never dared venture so close before, especially by day. But she was glad to see the knight in high spirits and good company.

As the forest began to thin, she turned back toward the castle, slipping through the fading light and into the soothing dark of the entry hall. Henry bounced over to meet her, throwing his arms around her neck as she settled on the cool stones.

“Soooo?” he giggled. “How’d it go?”

**“I didn’t tell him.”**

“You said you were gonna!”

**“I wanted to. I meant to. But someone came looking for him.”**

The dark mage grumbled, flopping down against her side. “You’re gonna tell him when he gets back, right?”

**“If he gets back.”**

“He will,” Henry insisted. “He promised.”

But Chrom had looked so happy and at ease in that company, talking and laughing with the other men and women as they marched. He looked at home with them. How could she expect him to return to a place of cold and darkness when he had warmth and light waiting?

“He _promised,”_ the mage repeated.

**“I thought we agreed, no hexing people without permission.”**

“I don’t need a hex to know what you’re thinking about.”

She sighed, curling tight around Henry as he wrapped his arms around her neck. “Don’t be sad. I know he’s gonna come back. I’m sure of it.”

She hoped so. But something gnawed at her even still. An uneasy feeling that she couldn’t seem to place. 

Sunset put her back together, but did nothing to ease her troubled mind. She barely heard the dark mage’s chatter over dinner, hardly tasted the meal itself...

But she did notice when the room went quiet. Glancing over at Henry, she saw him peering at her with a curious, slightly worried expression. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“...I have a bad feeling.”

He scooted closer, bumping his shoulder against hers. “It’s gonna be okay. I know it will.”

That didn’t reassure the sense of dread twisting around her heart. 

As the fire burned down to embers, Robin sighed, glancing toward the doorway. It would feel strange, sleeping alone again -- but the cot in the kitchen wasn’t big enough for two…

“Want me to come with you?”

“You said it felt weird last time,” she reminded him.

“It _did_ feel weird,” he said. “But I can try it again.”

She smiled, pulling the pale-haired mage into a hug that made him laugh and squirm in mock protest. They walked together through the corridor, up the stairs, and down the passage to the bedroom, snuggling close under the blankets as they had during their escape from Plegia.

But even with Henry cuddled close, that nagging feeling continued to pick at her mind, keeping sleep at bay until exhaustion finally overtook her.

***

The Shepherds greeted him with something just shy of fanfare when Lissa proudly escorted the prince back into Southtown. Surprisingly, Frederick’s first lecture was not for Chrom, but for Lissa, who (judging by how she sulked under the great knight’s chiding) had apparently made a habit of sneaking off into the woods, alone and against orders, to look for her brother. And the prince was not about to waste an opportunity to avoid the great knight’s prying, issuing the order to pack up and move out before Frederick could turn on him.

They gathered their supplies and set off toward Ylisstol by late morning. While the great knight clearly had more than a few choice words for Chrom, the prince had absolutely no intention of letting Frederick catch him, and instead spent the march regaling the Shepherds with stories of his hunt. The early days, barely remembered, chasing a nightmare through the dark. Before he’d known her. 

“So did you beat it?” Sully asked.

“Yeah! Where’d ya leave the monster’s head?” Vaike demanded.

“In the forest,” he shrugged.

“Why didn’t you bring it back!? That would’a made a sweet trophy,” the fighter grumbled.

“Something cursed like that can’t come into the capital,” he murmured. The thought alone had frightened her. But someday he would be able to show her. The markets, the shopfronts, the palace and its sprawling gardens -- she would see them with her own eyes, the _right_ eyes--

“Hey, Captain! You still with us?”

The redhead’s hand on his shoulder dragged him back to reality. “Sorry,” he chuckled. “Just thinking.”

“Relivin’ your victory?” Vaike grinned, elbowing Chrom in the ribs.

“Something like that,” he chuckled. “So how were things in Southtown while I was gone?”

“ _Crazy!!”_ Lissa cried, flinging her arms into the air (and nearly hitting Frederick with her staff this time). “When we told people what we saw they tried to break out the pitchforks!”

“Frederick managed to keep ‘em in line, though,” Sully assured the captain with a wink.

“That monster was quite clear in its instruction,” the great knight sniffed. “It wanted one of us to hunt. To send a mob might have put milord in danger.”

Chrom had to hand it to Frederick: he could at least count on the man to follow orders.

“But I remain convinced that it was foolhardy for you to rush into such a dangerous situation.”

Well, Chrom had at least managed to avoid the lecture for a while. 

“That thing could have killed you--”

“It didn’t--”

“--and no one would have been the wiser unless that monster chose to leave a sign. Milord, you are the prince of the Halidom of Ylisse, and while it is a fine quality to take the troubles of your people to heart, you _cannot_ do so at risk of your own life!”

“If I hadn’t, who knows what would have happened?” Anyone else might have killed her at the earliest opportunity by day or night, put Henry to the blade if they chanced across him--

“Do you not have faith in your Shepherds?” the great knight demanded. “They are the pride of the realm, as you above all others should know. _Any_ of them might have fared just as well.”

“I couldn’t put their lives at risk--”

“So you put your own in jeopardy instead? Our lives are dedicated to your service, our arms borne to defend you--”

“You make it sound like my life is worth more than yours--”

_“Because it is.”_

The prince scowled, casting his gaze down to the ground. “It is my duty to protect you and your sister at all costs,” Frederick continued sternly, “and your decision to hare off into danger severely compromised my ability to fulfill that cause. And you, milady, have not helped,” he added, casting a pointed look at Lissa. “The loss of any member of the royal house would be _catastrophic_ in its ramifications. You _must_ take greater care with your life.”

Chrom said nothing. The silence stretched taut as they continued to march north, and the prince waited for something to break it. Likely him, if this sullen standoff lasted much longer--

“I am glad to see you safe and unharmed, milord. You had us all quite frantic.”

Chrom sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for worrying you,” he said. He did regret not finding some way to inform them sooner. But the rest...he would not apologize for that.

The mood lightened somewhat as they at last left the road through the forest and found Ylisstol shining in the last light of day. The cropland around the city lay bare after the harvest, though the farms still bustled with activity as the people made preparations for winter. But as the sun’s glow faded from the sky and the lamps along the city streets were lit to guide them on, Chrom found his frustration replaced by a familiar sense of ease. He had been gone for so long, he’d almost forgotten how good it felt to be home.

As much as he wanted to find Miriel straight away, the great knight placed a firm hand on his wards’ shoulders and steered them into the palace. In spite of the recent nightfall, twilight had not yet deepened to dusk -- so when Frederick escorted them into the throne room, Emmeryn still stood atop the dais.

She stopped as the great knight shepherded her siblings into the room, her eyes wide with wonder -- and then she hurried to meet them, pulling Chrom into a fierce embrace. “Thank Naga -- I feared we’d lost you.”

Hugging her tight, the prince shook his head. “I’m sorry for worrying you, Emm.” He’d been making that apology a lot today.

She pulled away after a long moment, wiping her eyes delicately with the tips of her fingers. “It’s so good to have you both home again.”

“Has anything happened while we were away?” Chrom asked.

Her smile faded. “Plegia grows bolder with each day that passes. We were forced to convene a council without you, and it’s been agreed that we will request aid from Regna Ferox to help defend our borders. I hate to ask this of you when you’ve only just returned, but…”

The prince felt his chest tighten. A trip to Ferox would take the better part of a fortnight -- and likely more, if their reception last time was any indication. He’d hoped to deliver some kind of word to Robin within the week, even if it was just to say that he’d started searching…

...but Emmeryn’s pleading look was more than he could bear.

“Of course,” he murmured. “We can start tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Chrom.” He mustered a smile as the exalt turned her attention to the great knight standing respectfully behind them. “And thank you, Frederick, for bringing him home safely.”

“It is my honor to serve,” the cavalier bowed. “But if I might be so bold, Your Grace, I’m deeply troubled by much of what I heard in Southtown while we awaited Prince Chrom’s return. Might I recommend we increase security around the palace? I fear the monster’s appearance has rather sinister implications.”

“What kind of implications?” the prince frowned.

“Peace, Chrom,” Emmeryn said gently, touching her brother’s arm. “You and Lissa both should rest while you can. I’ll see you at supper?”

“Of course!!” the princess laughed. “I can’t _wait,_ it’s been _forever_ since we’ve been home!”

Chrom nodded, casting a troubled glance at Frederick as his younger sister skipped out of the throne room. “Boy, I can’t wait to take a nice warm bath,” she giggled. “I call first dibs!”

“Have at it,” the prince replied. “I have something to see to before supper.”

“What kind of something? Do you have a girlfriend you’re visiting while you’re home?”

He recognized that teasing tone, and fought to hide a smile. “I’ll tell you when I get back.”

“You’re no fun at all,” Lissa pouted. Tousling her pigtails, the prince laughed as she swatted at his hands before shooing her off. 

And then he turned his steps out of the palace and toward the garrison where, as he’d hoped, the Shepherds’ mage sat reading a massive text by the light of several lamps. She did not seem to notice as he approached, nor as he called her name. It was only when he tapped her shoulder that she looked up, adjusting her spectacles and blinking owlishly at the prince as he leaned against her chair. “Ah. Good evening, Captain.”

“Good evening, Miriel,” he chuckled. “I was hoping you could help me with something.”

“Certainly,” she replied. “How may I assist you?”

“Tell me everything you know about curses.”

“Curses,” she repeated, hefting a leather-bound journal up onto the table.

“Yes. Especially how to break them.”

“I’m afraid that my experience with such afflictions is rather lacking,” the mage admitted, leafing between various markers and ribbons stuck among the pages. “I’m familiar with the notion of them from children’s stories and folklore, but I have never encountered such a condition before.”

“Would you mind looking into it, then?” Chrom asked.

She made a thoughtful noise, adjusting her glasses and running her hand across the pages of her book. “The implication that such a malady may not be a fabrication of superstition is quite fascinating. The archives may contain some records…”

“Whatever you need, just let me know,” the prince assured her. “The Shepherds will be marching for Ferox come morning, but I’d be grateful if you could stay here and look into this.”

Miriel turned toward him, and suddenly Chrom worried that _he_ was becoming the focus of her investigation. “Might I inquire as to the sudden interest into such an obscure topic?”

“...I met someone who’s cursed,” he confessed. “And I promised I’d find a way to break it.”

“An admirable gesture,” she nodded. “Though rather unexpected, given your lacking propensity for study.”

He had a feeling that was an insult. Though maybe not an intentional one. “I appreciate your help, Miriel. Send word if you find anything.”

The mage made an agreeable noise, turning the whole of her attention to her journal. Shrugging awkwardly to himself, the prince made his way out of the garrison, looking up at the scattered stars as he moved through the courtyard. Robin would be herself by now -- hopefully warm and fed and enjoying Henry’s company, if not his puns. 

As much as he’d missed being home...part of him now missed being there.

Making his way back toward the palace, a sound caught his attention. He paused, lifting his head and trying to find the source -- a footstep, the clank of armor, ringing steel-- 

An explosion shattered the quiet.

Instinct moved him. Drawing Falchion from its sheath, he bolted across the grounds, dodging the disorganized soldiers wearing Ylissean colors, trying to find a way through to the palace--

A shape lunged from the bushes.

Chrom whirled, parrying the dagger and throwing the attacker off balance before striking him down with a swift blow. He paused only long enough to ensure the man was not moving -- and then he raced for the castle.

Chaos met him. Ylissean guardsmen engaged with black-clad figures that seemed more shadow than man, their blades flashing out of the dark as they struck. Fighting his way through, the prince rushed headlong for the throne room, praying that Frederick had remained with Emmeryn, that she had her guards, that she’d escaped, that he wasn’t too late--

A gaping hole had been burned through the doors.

Chrom’s heart lodged in his throat.

Forcing his way past the wreckage, the prince scanned the room. The pegasus knights had rallied to the exalt’s defense -- and every one had been cut down, their bodies scattered across the charred stone. He felt his hands shaking, struggled to tighten his grip on Falchion’s hilt as he searched for any trace of his sister, where she might have escaped to--

Something moved behind the throne.

A tall figure slid through the shadows, the torchlight glinting off the gold ornaments around his neck. Chrom gritted his teeth, his stance shifting to the defensive -- if this man was responsible for the deaths of the pegasus knights, he had to be wary…

“Captain!!”

The prince took a step back as Sully’s horse crashed into the room, followed by Stahl and Frederick with Lissa in tow. The great knight reined his mount in front of Chrom, blocking his view for just an instant -- and by the time it moved away, the shadows were empty.

“By Naga’s grace, what happened?” Stahl breathed.

“I don’t know,” the prince replied. He hadn’t been imagining that figure in the shadows, had he?

“Where is the exalt?” Frederick demanded. Chrom looked out at the throne room, desperate for a sign, something, _anything…_

Falchion slipped from his hands, ringing as it struck the floor. 

Moving through the carnage, he fell to his knees beside her where she lay, half-sheltered by Phila’s embrace. Her crown had been removed, taken as a prize -- as proof -- out of spite or out of hate for the best of them all, and he felt something building in his chest as he clutched her still fingers in his trembling hand.

He did not hear Frederick move to stand beside him. He did not hear the great knight’s words, though he knew something had been said. He only heard Lissa’s wail as she saw what the attackers had come for. And as his sister’s blood seeped through his gloves, the dam inside broke open, washing away the last of his senses.


	6. Cruelly Stolen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of his sister's death, Chrom struggles to cope with his grief and anger over her loss. A warning from Frederick sends him back to the Southtown keep, where a single misstep breaks the fragile peace...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we begin the long fall.
> 
> More perspective breaks in this chapter! Just as a reminder, dashes (-) indicate a change of scene, while (*) indicate a change of perspective. Just so that you know what to expect going forward. 
> 
> And thank you once again to **[AcquaSole](archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole)** for all of the encouragement and inspiration (and for watching me write half of this thing in real time, that was a treat  <3)!

The attack ended as swiftly as it began, and the assassins left no traces. Even the soldiers who swore they’d cut one down could find no black-clad corpses. Like shadows, they had moved invisibly through the dark, only to vanish before the torch.

But the damage they had wrought was catastrophic.

The exalt, along with nearly every pegasus knight in the guard, had died in the assault. And the attackers had taken not only Emmeryn’s crown, but the Fire Emblem, as well. Frederick had seen to both Chrom and Lissa in the hours that followed, leaving much of the reconnaissance to the Ylisstol guardsmen. The princess had sobbed until she had no more tears to shed, clinging to her brother even after sleep took her. And the prince…

...he felt empty. Scoured hollow in the wake of Emmeryn’s death. He had seen her only an hour before, embraced her, made plans to eat together as they hadn’t done in so long, _too_ long, and now…now they never would again.

...what was he supposed to do?

He sensed that things were happening around him, but he had no will to pay attention. The voices he heard made no sense, the gestures he saw were empty, every touch felt cold and nothing had any meaning anymore. He’d never felt so lost. And even though he knew that Lissa, Frederick, the Shepherds, and all of Ylisse were there for him, he had never felt more alone. He could not find the strength they needed in him. He couldn’t seem to find _anything_ in him.

The city mourned. The bells tolled. Plans were laid and set into motion, preparations made and completed, and the prince watched it all without feeling or understanding. Nothing seemed real, and the small part of him still capable of it prayed that all of this was a nightmare. A brief terror in the dark that would soon pass, and when he woke he would find that he had never left for Southtown, that Robin still slept in his arms, that the day was far from dawning, and he could lie awake in the quiet until her warmth and the cadence of her breath eased him back to sleep.

He did sleep, eventually. But when he woke, it was Lissa curled beside him, her cheeks marked by dry tear tracks.

Emmeryn was interred in the mausoleum on the castle grounds, reserved for the noblest of the exalted line. And the part of him that recognized the gesture was glad for it. She had always been the best of them. The brightest. Their guiding light, the beacon of hope that led them on through all the turmoil that followed their father’s death. To bury her outside of Ylisstol, so far from her home and the people she had given everything for -- it would have devalued everything she’d done and the peace she had secured, however briefly, before… 

The service was quiet. Lissa clung tight to his arm throughout the prayer, the eulogy, the silent march to the crypt and down its winding stairs, and the final benediction. Emmeryn’s tomb lay open, and Chrom’s heart twisted at the sight of her: the monks had been reverent in their preparations for the viewing, arranging her golden hair into a halo around her head, folding her hands over her chest in silent prayer, doing their utmost to give her an appearance of restful sleep -- but she lay too still, her face slack and lifeless under the soft rouge applied to give color to her cheeks.

The hymn echoed through the chamber, a haunting melody that sent chills down his spine. A dirge seemed a poor choice for his sister, when she had brought so much peace to those around her. A requiem would have been better to lift her to those Exalted spheres. But the prince could not muster the words to ask for it.

Soon enough the somber notes faded to silence, and with Frederick steadying Lissa on the narrow stairs, the small procession climbed toward the light of day.

...all but Chrom.

Kneeling at the foot of her grave, the prince bowed his head. He could still remember the day she was crowned as exalt of Ylisse, how his nursemaid insisted that he bend his knee to her, and how Emmeryn had laughed as she pulled him back up to his feet and hugged him tight. Family need never bow, she’d said, for their acts of love are far more precious than their acts of fealty.

But she did not chide him now. And she never would again. The cold silence choked him as he raked his hand through his hair, his shoulders shaking as the tears at last broke free.

“What am I supposed to do now, Emm?” he begged. He’d never had to live without her before. He’d never had to face the people of Ylisse on his own. The thought of shouldering her burden in the wake of all this...the crushing weight sent him curling inward. “What do I do?”

But she did not answer him.

And he knew she never would.

\-----

The whole of the halidom fell to mourning. Chrom received audiences from commoners and nobles alike, paying respects and offering condolences and swearing fealty to the man who would someday be their king. Someday soon, it seemed, from the preparations he glimpsed in progress when he mustered the attention. Emmeryn’s loss still weighed heavily on his mind and heart -- but the aching void her absence left was gradually filling with something else. Something that burned, desperate to take action and cut down the shadows that had claimed her life.

He hadn’t seen much of Lissa since the funeral. From what he’d gathered, Maribelle had been tending to her while the prince was tied up with matters of court. He was grateful for that: he’d been too lost in his own grief to help his sister through hers.

In many ways, he still was.

As the palace quieted with the fall of twilight, Chrom made his way to his private quarters, feeling drained and listless and wanting nothing more than dreamless sleep. The last few nights had been plagued by terrors that woke him in a cold sweat, visions of shadowed figures sneering through the dark and his sister’s blood on his hands. There was little he would not give for a moment of peace.

Still less that he wouldn’t give to have Emmeryn back.

But as he lay his hand on the door, Frederick cleared his throat. “May I have a moment, milord?” the great knight asked.

He had grown deaf to the cavalier’s presence guarding him over the past few days. But he didn’t much want to talk. “Can it wait?” the prince replied.

“I think it would be best if it did not,” Frederick replied gently.

Chrom sighed, opening the door and gesturing for the great knight to follow as he sat beside the crackling hearth. Frederick closed the door politely before moving to stand with his arms folded behind his back. “I apologize for troubling you while you remain in mourning,” the great knight began. “This is...a very difficult time. But I fear that we must take action soon to forefend a far worse calamity.”

“And what is that?” the prince muttered.

“A Plegian invasion.”

Chrom stared at Frederick, but the cavalier’s expression remained set in a stern, troubled frown. “What are you talking about?”

“I brought the matter to the exalt’s attention mere minutes before…” The great knight winced, bowing his head as the prince’s heart twisted in his chest. “Forgive me, milord. But I fear that the monster you engaged with in Southtown was merely a portent of things to come--”

“Don’t call her that.”

Frederick frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t call her that,” Chrom repeated firmly. 

“Call who _what,_ milord?”

“Robin’s not a monster.” 

The great knight’s expression darkened. “What _exactly_ transpired in your absence, milord?”

The prince sighed, covering his eyes with a shaky hand. “There was never a monster. There’s just a woman living with a curse her father forced on her. She’s desperate for a way out, whether it’s breaking the curse or ending her own life, and I promised I’d find a way to help.”

“What does this woman look like?”

“White-haired. Rather pale. Why?”

“What does she wear?”

“A blouse and trousers? And a coat. Purple with gold edging,” he murmured, remembering the warmth of it around him on that rainy night--

“With a six eyed motif?” Frederick prompted.

“...on the sleeves,” Chrom agreed. Henry had a similar pattern on his collar.

“You’ve been deceived, milord.”

The prince frowned, fixing a cold stare on the great knight’s face. “How would you know?”

“How much do you know about our western neighbors?”

Not much. He knew that there had been many conflicts between Ylisse and Plegia through the ages, and relations remained poor between the two nations. “They worship the fell dragon, and my father wanted to wipe them out.”

“Do you know what the Grimleal call their god?”

“Grima,” Chrom replied.

“The Six-Eyes,” Frederick corrected.

They glowed out of the dark, violet flames against black scales. And she had turned all six on him when he had her full attention.

“I spoke at great length with the people of Southtown in your absence, many of whom are veterans of your father’s war. The very reason they were ready to take up arms against the beast is because it is clearly a Grimleal monster, fellspawn of some kind, and given Plegia’s recent aggressions it seemed highly likely at the time that the creature was sent to incite panic among the people. If that thing truly is a woman, then whoever she is, she is certainly one of Grima’s followers,” the great knight insisted. “And I imagine her purpose was to keep you from interfering with the assault on Ylisstol -- whether by killing you or keeping you from the capital, it likely did not matter. And though you managed to slip from her grasp in time to witness the attack, there was not time enough to prepare as we needed to stave off disaster.”

She had seemed so reluctant to let him leave. And she would never let him see her change. Could she control it all along? Was all of it a lie, meant only to keep him from defending Emmeryn?

The anger that had been simmering in his breast ignited into rage.

“Leave, Frederick.”

The cavalier frowned. “Milord--”

_“LEAVE.”_

The prince’s knuckles paled as he gripped the arms of his chair. The great knight paused a moment longer -- but finally bowed. “As you command, milord.” He retreated silently from the room, leaving Chrom to his swirling thoughts.

But the prince was tired of restless notions.

As the clanking of Frederick’s armor faded into silence, Chrom rose from his chair, crossing to the door and peering out into the hall. Finding it empty, he made his way swiftly through the narrow corridors to a secret passage he and Lissa had found as children, hidden behind a tapestry of dancing manaketes, and ducked inside. It was smaller than he remembered, but not impassable, and soon enough he slid through a thick mass of brown ivy into the palace gardens.

The walk to the stables took little enough time. The prince would never think to call himself an adept horseman, but he knew enough to get by, and certainly enough to get him back to the castle outside of Southtown--

“Captain?”

Chrom looked up as Sully leaned against the wall of the nearest stall. “Hello, Sully.”

“What’re you doin’ here?” she asked, watching bemusedly as he saddled the nearest horse.

“I need a ride,” he muttered. 

“Somethin’ to clear your head?” she offered. He nodded as she moved past him, a bridle in hand. “I know how that goes. I’ve been goin’ out a lot lately, too. Isn’t it kinda late, though?”

“I have a lot on my mind, and it can’t wait until morning.”

“Hey, suit yourself,” she shrugged. “Want some company? I’m always up for a ride, if you need somebody to talk to.”

“I need to do this on my own.”

She paused, glancing at him from her place at the horse’s head. “You feelin’ okay, Captain?”

“No.” 

The cavalier said nothing else. As he tightened and tied the saddle securely in place, she held the reins out to him. “Take it easy out there. And try not to get yourself hurt, okay?”

The prince mustered a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

As Chrom led his mount out of its stall, his gaze fell on a nearby table. Among the various pieces of tack cluttering its surface, someone had discarded a few candle stubs.

He felt a wry grin twitch at the corner of his mouth as he pocketed them before leading the horse out into the night.

\-----

Even with the full moon to light the way, the forest south of Ylisstol seemed too dark to travel at any more than a walking pace. But he still made better time on horseback than he could have on foot: he reached the hill overlooking the castle in the darkest hours of the night, long after Robin and Henry normally retired to bed and well before the dawn would wake them.

Tying the reins to a low branch at the edge of the forest, Chrom made his way to the keep on foot, passing under the ruined arch and through the doors into the dark foyer. Kneeling in the moonlight, he removed a candle from his pocket and patiently lit it, shielding the flame with one hand before moving deeper into the castle halls.

He paused at the foot of the stair leading up to the second floor, watching the firelight play across the stones. He had walked these steps so many times, first to meet her, then alongside her -- had she been laughing as he followed her each night, her scorn hidden in those shadows she traversed with such ease? Had he really been so foolish that he’d been deceived by a fairy tale curse?

The thought hurt. All the more for how he’d wanted so much to show her everything the halidom had to offer, after believing her stories of being held prisoner.

He climbed the spiral steps with care, sheltering the candle from drafts as he emerged into the upper hall. His heart felt heavy as he made his way down the corridor, pausing just outside the bedroom doorway. She would be just beyond.

Drawing a deep, slow breath, Chrom stepped into the dark, the hand he’d used to shield the candle settling on Falchion’s hilt as the flame lit the space around him. Three quiet steps brought him to the bedside. His hand shook, and he tightened his grip before lifting the light slightly higher…

She was there. Curled on the side of the bed that had, since the first evening, been hers, seeming somehow smaller in the candlelight than she ever had in the dark beside him. All that time, he had believed her tale of a cursed black diamond… 

Something flashed against her chest. 

He paused, leaning in as he brought the candle closer. There, just beneath her throat -- a stone, its facets shining in the weak light. He had seen it only once by day, surrounded by broken scales, and by night she had been careful to keep her chest hidden with her shirt or the clasp of her coat. But now he saw it, bound to her skin at the center of an old scar.

She had said that the gem burned with the rise and set of the sun. But he couldn’t imagine that it would make such a mark -- and the burns were too old to be the product of her daily changes.

Sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, Chrom brushed a lock of pale hair away from Robin’s face. She did not stir at the touch, and for a moment he watched her sleep, thinking again of everything he had come to know about her. She had told him, once, that she came from the west. Given the bad blood between Ylisse and Plegia, was it so strange that she wouldn’t admit outright what land she’d fled? 

Would he have been so quick to help her if she had, curse or otherwise?

A faint pang of guilt made him wince, and he withdrew his hand from Falchion’s hilt. He had needed someone to blame for Emmeryn’s death. And Frederick’s words had seemed reasonable enough. But the great knight, for all his good intentions, did not know Robin. And even though Chrom couldn’t claim to know her best -- only Henry could say that, he was sure -- he knew her far better than Frederick.

He had heard her desperation. Her despair. He had seen her smile over the promise of an extra dessert; watched her face light up at an early snowfall; felt her curl close beside him, not to beguile or charm, but to warm him through the cold. She had deceived him once, by not admitting that she and the dark beast were one and the same. But she had never tried to hurt him, by day or night.

He was a fool. But not for believing her.

Sighing softly, he brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek, his touch straying down to the face of the dark gem--

The stone burned as his hand lit on its surface, a deep violet glow pulsing within it.

He snatched his hand back as she gasped in pain, curling inward around the gem’s fading light. And when she looked up at him, confusion clouded her expression. “Sir Chrom? What are you doing here?”

How could he admit that he’d been tricked?

She frowned, reaching out to touch his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“...I--”

“Robin!!”

They both jumped as Henry stumbled into the room, his hair disheveled and his nose bloody. She bolted out of bed as the mage staggered, catching him just before he fell. “Oh, gods, Henry, what _happened--_ ”

“I-I don’t know,” he babbled. “I was sleeping and then it was like something hit me in the face and I woke up a-and--” He pulled something from his tunic that made Robin’s pale face turn ashen. “The ward broke.”

A choking silence covered the room.

And then Robin turned to the prince, pulling Henry up against her. “You have to go.”

“What?” Chrom balked. “Why?” 

“Because my father is coming, and he won’t hesitate to kill you if you get in his way,” she replied, her voice shaking very slightly as she spoke. “I can’t ask you to face him. Please, Sir Chrom,” she begged. “Please go. Hurry.”

“Robin, what’re we gonna do?” Henry whimpered.

“I need my tome, Henry.”

The mage paled a shade further. But he still reached into his tunic again, withdrawing the deep red spellbook the prince had seen so many times before...and a light green one, its covers inscribed with silver swirls. Chrom had seen tomes like that before--

“Sir Chrom, please. You have to go _now._ ”

“I’m not going to leave you.” He’d already endangered her life once tonight, he wouldn’t leave her at risk--

“If you don’t go now, _you will die._ ”

“What about you?” the prince demanded.

“I’ve run out of time,” she murmured.

He moved toward her as she pulled her coat close around her. “Don’t say that--”

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, my dear fellblood.”

Robin and Henry both jumped back from the door as a tall, skeletal shadow slunk into the room. Casting the candle aside, Chrom drew Falchion from its sheath, training the glowing blade on the figure--

Gold ornaments glinted around his neck.

The prince’s grip tensed as the man sneered down at him, drumming his spidery fingers across the spine of his spellbook. “Well, what have we here -- the prince of Ylisse! Or...would that be exalt now?”

Chrom gritted his teeth as rage burned through his veins. “You _dastard--_ ”

“Prince?” Robin whispered behind him. He didn’t dare turn to look at her. Not while the man in the doorway tapped the cover of his tome, a smile carving its way across his gaunt face.

“You don’t have your guard this time, boy,” the man chuckled, an eerie ring of light twisting around him as violet lightning crackled through his fingers. Tightening his grip on Falchion’s hilt, the prince lunged--

Robin grabbed his arm and dragged him back. In the same instant the shadowy figure gestured toward him, sending a roil of electric energy flying through the air. It grazed his shoulder, his muscles spasming and locking before his arm lost all sensation--

The mass of lightning struck the wall behind them, shaking the whole of the castle as it tore through the stone. He staggered as the floor trembled and gave way beneath his feet, one arm pinioning desperately for something to grab onto, something to keep him from the edge of the drop…

He found nothing.

His stomach lurched as he toppled backward--

“Chrom!”

Someone grabbed his hand, arresting his fall. Blinking through the smoke and dust, the prince stared at Robin as she struggled to hold him up. 

He gripped her wrist, and she smiled softly down at him. “You have to let go,” she whispered.

“Robin--” 

“One of us has to make it through the night,” she murmured. She slid one hand into her coat, the silver patterns on her spellbook glowing faintly as the wind tugged at his clothes. “You’ll be alright. Just let go.”

His chest tightened as he saw the tears brimming at the corners of her eyes.

Chrom’s grip faltered, his hand slipping from hers. 

He saw her throw her arm out, as though she were trying to grab him again -- and the wind caught him up, swirling fitfully as it bore him away from the crumbling keep and into the trees beyond.

***

Robin rose slowly, her eyes trained on the branches still whipping from the arcwind’s passage. It would carry him far. She only prayed it could take him far enough to escape the danger here.

“As wilful as ever, I see. Dear fellblood, why would you save Naga’s spawn?”

She whirled, snatching the tome from her coat as her father paused just out of range of the swirling gusts. “I won’t go back,” she snarled.

“Be reasonable,” he chuckled. “What do you imagine awaits you here in Ylisse? They will see you and think only to raise their weapons against you. Come home--”

_“NEVER!”_

He took a step back, frowning as the razor winds shredded his robes. “Must you always be so temperamental?” 

She sneered, feeling the gusts billowing through her coat. “Perhaps I’d be less so if I had something better than confinement and inhumanity to look forward to.”

“Dear fellblood,” the man sighed, opening his arms, “why in Grima’s name do you seek _humanity_ when you have _divinity_ in your blood?”

She choked on the spiteful laughter. “That is a matter of opinion.”

“I ask again,” her father said, his voice growing cold. “Come home, dear fellblood. You’ve been gone so long, and suffered so much--”

“Not half as much as I suffered in your prison,” she spat.

He glared at her through the dark, and she met his eye without flinching. If he intended to take her back, he would have to drag her, and she would fight to her death before she allowed that--

“Well, if _you_ won’t come, I suppose I’ll just have to take your little pet.”

Her blood ran cold.

She hadn’t noticed Aversa’s arrival. But she saw the woman now, sauntering out of the shadows with Henry in tow, his arms bound behind his back. “Won’t he make a lovely little toy?” Aversa asked, her eyes never leaving Robin’s face even as she turned to her master. “I can’t _wait_ to play with him…”

Henry whimpered as Aversa wrenched his head up, her wicked nails digging into the soft spot under his chin and drawing blood--

_“STOP!!”_

The wind quieted as Robin lowered her tome. “Don’t hurt him.”

“Robin--”

“Why should I show leniency when he has so brazenly defied orders?” the sorcerer asked, watching as Henry squirmed in Aversa’s clutches.

“What order did he defy?” Robin demanded. “The whole of his purpose was to ensure that I remained safe and unharmed. As you can see,” she noted, spreading her arms wide, “he has done exactly as you asked.”

The man frowned, thoughtfully. “Will you return with us, dear fellblood?”

“Let him go. Swear you won’t harm him,” she insisted. “...and I will go.”

Her father bowed low. “As you wish.” Rising again, he nodded curtly to Aversa, who snorted as she shoved Henry away. Robin snatched the dark mage up before he fell, returning his tight embrace with a desperate one of her own.

“Why’d you do that?” he sobbed.

“Did you really think I’d waltz off and leave you with _Aversa?”_ she chuckled. “...I couldn’t abandon you to that. And we both know I’m a lost cause without you.”

He clung tighter as she smoothed his pale hair, fighting back tears for the second time. “I’m sorry, Robin,” Henry sniffled. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I--”

“It’s alright,” she hushed him. “It’s not your fault.”

“Come along, dear fellblood.”

They both tensed at the cloying tone in her father’s voice. But Robin drew herself up, linking her arm with Henry’s as she led them into the dark halls beyond.

“What’re we gonna do now?” the dark mage breathed.

“We’ll figure something out,” she assured him.

But she knew, deep down, that she would never again taste freedom.

***

The wind eventually weakened and failed, dropping him in a pile of leaves far from the keep. Struggling to his feet, Chrom carefully prised Falchion from his tense fingers, sheathing it awkwardly before pulling his injured arm close against his side. Whatever magic that man had at his command, it would have been deadly had it struck true.

...Robin had saved him from that.

He lifted his head, trying to get his bearings through the dark. He couldn’t leave her to face that monster alone. But even moving as fast as he dared through the night, it took too long to find his way back.

He stopped at the edge of the lake, staring at the ruined heap of stones that had, mere hours ago, been a castle. Perhaps the spell had destroyed too much for it to stay standing -- or Robin’s father may have razed it as a parting blow.

Gods, how had everything gone so wrong?

Picking his way through the wreckage, the prince made his way back up the hill. His horse, at least, had gone unscathed, if rather spooked; soothing it as best he could, Chrom struggled up into the saddle and turned back toward Ylisstol, sifting through his confused thoughts as the moon began to set.

He arrived back at the capital as the first hint of light crept onto the horizon -- and the moment his horse approached the city gate, another galloped out to meet him, rearing and stamping its hooves as its rider reined it in.

“Where the _fuck_ have you been all night!?” Sully demanded.

“Fucking up at every turn,” Chrom grumbled.

“Oh, you fucking -- I _told_ you to take it easy out there,” the cavalier growled, snatching the reins from his good hand and urging her mount into a brisk trot. “What kind of damn fool move did you go an’ pull?”

“I attacked the man who killed my sister.”

The horses did not stop. But he saw Sully turn toward him, her grave expression lit by the torches as they passed through the gates. “Tell me you’re joking.”

The prince met her eye steadily until she looked back at the road. “For fuck’s sake, Captain--”

“I know it was stupid,” he mumbled. “And now she’s paying for it.”

“Who?” Sully asked.

“Someone I let down.” He’d promised Robin that he’d find a way to free her, and in the end he could do nothing while she became a prisoner…

“Okay, I’ve got no fuckin’ clue what you’re on about, but I’m pretty sure Frederick’s gonna need to hear about it.”

He hated to admit it, but she was probably right.

The cavalier slowed as they entered the palace grounds, pulling up on the horses’ reins outside the garrison. “You go sit your ass down and get your head straight,” Sully ordered. “I’ll take care of these two and find Frederick. ...and a cleric,” she added.

“Thanks, Sully,” he sighed, dismounting awkwardly before pushing his way into the Shepherds’ barracks. He was not looking forward to the great knight’s inevitable harangue--

“Ah, there you are, Captain.”

Chrom looked up as Miriel approached, several books tucked under her arm. “Your arrival is most fortuitous -- I had just completed my summary of findings for the inquiry you requested and was preparing to pass the missive on to the palace staff for delivery.”

The prince blinked, feeling very tired and very dense. “Come again?”

“The matter you requested I investigate,” she prompted. “Regarding curses and the most efficacious methods to remove them.”

“Did you find something?” he asked. Knowing his luck, the answer would be a resounding no--

“Indeed.”

The mage suddenly commanded his full attention. “What is it?” 

“It’s quite remarkable,” Miriel beamed, offering a folded piece of parchment to the prince. He took it in his good hand, moving to sit at the table before struggling with the seal. “I found several texts that elaborated on the matter. It seems that ‘curse’ and ‘hex’ are synonymous with a particular variety of ritual spellcraft used extensively by Plegian natives to produce a broad array of both beneficial and detrimental effects, based on the particular will of the individual invoking the ritual. Oftentimes the spell is bound to an item that acts as a locus for the thaumaturgic energy, and the magic can be directed at specific targets through the inclusion of a personal effect, such as a strand of hair.”

Chrom wasn’t entirely sure he followed all that. But it sounded very much like the spell Henry had tried the night before the prince’s departure.

“Of course, I also investigated several rumors of cursed objects not relating to Plegia’s spellcraft,” the mage continued. “While many appear to be anecdotal -- shoes that compel the wearer to dance ceaselessly or a flute that ensorcells all who hear it to follow -- I was able to procure information on a handful of such items that appear legitimate: the legendary blade Durandal, said to manipulate the actions and mind of its wielder; the Devil Axe, which has been known to injure its holder when they strike a foe; the Heart of the Moon, a gemstone that binds indelibly to whoever touches it...”

The prince lifted his head, staring as Miriel forged ahead. “Such objects are exceptionally rare, of course, and no successful attempts have been made to remove the curses from them; however…”

“Yes?” Chrom urged.

“A particularly curious note I came across in my research: the blade of House Ylisse is considered a holy weapon and evidently possesses the ability to dispel lesser kinds of dark magic. Though I would imagine that the exalting ritual would be required in order to banish more powerful effects--”

“What exalting ritual?” he pressed.

At last the mage stopped, adjusting her glasses uncomfortably. “I’m afraid I was unable to locate a suitable explanation for the procedure itself,” she confessed. “Much of what I was able to procure stems from legend: Falchion itself was forged from a fang of the divine dragon Naga, and therefore bears a measure of her power: however, much of that power has been sealed in order to preserve the balance of power between human nations. In times of cataclysm, the blade’s full potential can be awakened through an exalting ritual carried out at Mount Prism...but I was unable to locate anything more substantial than that.”

The prince smiled, patting her arm. “That’s more than enough. Thank you, Miriel.”

She smiled, touching her spectacles with the tips of her fingers. “It was my pleasure, Captain.” Chrom sat back as the mage moved away, watching as she reshelved the books she had been carrying in the nearest bookcase. 

Mount Prism. Frederick would likely oppose the idea, but the prince would not be swayed. He would keep his promise to her. And even if it meant striking into Plegia, he would see her freed.


	7. Sought by Those

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrom rallies the Shepherds to action, making his way to Mount Prism and Ferox in preparation for a journey into Plegia. All the while, Robin struggles to hold on when everything she cares about is stripped from her...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has actually been done since Sunday and I got sidetracked before uploading whoops. 8D;
> 
> Things are getting pretty rough as the story moves forward, and Robin is mentally slipping back into very dark places. So I'm going to throw this warning back out there, because it's important: **anyone uncomfortable with or triggered by suicidal thoughts, tendencies, or actions, please be warned that this chapter includes aftermath of a self-harm incident.**
> 
> More perspective breaks in this chapter! Just as a reminder, dashes (-) indicate a change of scene, while (*) indicate a change of perspective. Just so that you know what to expect going forward. 
> 
> And thank you once again to **[AcquaSole](archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole)** for beta review on your gift fic (and all of the wonderful discussion of the worldbuilding that's gone into this story and into this chapter, especially ~~and also for providing Chrom's perfect nickname~~ )!

As expected, Frederick had been less than pleased with Chrom’s announcement that he needed to make a pilgrimage to Mount Prism. The fact that he had gone off, alone and unannounced, and returned injured hadn’t helped. The rest of the Shepherds gathered to witness the great knight’s latest lecture, which the prince endured patiently while Lissa grumbled over his injured arm. It was nothing new or terribly surprising for any of them -- though Frederick’s terse reminder of what happened when a member of House Ylisse fell left the room utterly silent.

They had all seen, now, just how right he was.

The great knight sighed, adjusting his collar before folding his arms behind his back. “Why do you feel it necessary to journey to Mount Prism, milord?”

Chrom looked up in surprise. He’d expected Frederick to veto the notion outright. “I need to awaken Falchion.”

“...I’m afraid I don’t understand -- _awaken_ it?”

“Yes. Miriel found out about it.” The mage smiled, standing just a bit taller at the recognition. “Most of the blade’s power is sealed, but there’s an exalting ritual that can unlock it in times of need.”

“And what, pray tell, do you need such power _for?”_ the great knight pressed.

“There’s a curse I need to break.”

Vaike laughed, pounding his fist on the table as Stahl scooted his breakfast out of the way. Sully groaned, ruffling her short curls. “Godsdammit, Captain, I told you to get your fuckin’ head on straight.”

“I’m being serious,” the prince insisted.

“Curses ain’t _real,_ ” Vaike snorted.

Miriel frowned, adjusting her spectacles. “According to my research there is quantifiable evidence to suggest that such afflictions--”

“Lady, I see your mouth movin’ but all I’m hearin’ is gibberish,” the fighter grumbled.

“She said curses are real and you’re a dumbass,” Sully translated.

“Take that back!” Vaike demanded, hitting the table again (and very nearly upsetting Stahl’s plate).

“That’s enough, _all_ of you!” Frederick snapped. The fighter continued to grumble as he swiped a slab of bacon from the cavalier’s heaping platter. “Please continue, milord.”

Chrom offered the great knight a wan smile. “Thank you. According to what Miriel found, Falchion can dispel curses and other kinds of dark magic, since it’s a holy weapon. But to remove a stronger curse, Falchion would need more power.”

“And what manner of curse are you seeking to break, milord?” Frederick asked warily.

“The one I told you about earlier.”

The great knight sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The one _supposedly_ affecting that Plegian girl?”

“What girl?” Lissa piped up.

“Your brother insists that the fell beast that challenged us outside of Southtown is not a monster, but a woman afflicted with a curse,” Frederick explained.

“Why didn’t she just say that, then?” the princess asked.

“Would _you_ have listened when she first came out of the woods?” Chrom remarked. Lissa hunched her shoulders slightly and went back to work on her brother’s arm. “Her name is Robin. Yes, she is Plegian. But she didn’t come here to hurt anyone.”

“Which is why she wanted to hunt somebody,” Sully snorted.

“She wanted someone to hunt _her,_ ” the prince muttered. “She’s desperate for any way to break the curse. Death is not an unreasonable option to her anymore.”

Stahl pushed his plate away, looking vaguely queasy at the thought. “So...what did she do that got her cursed to be a monster?” the cavalier asked.

“She only looks like that, and only during the day,” Chrom corrected. “It doesn’t change how she thinks or acts. And _she_ didn’t do anything. Her father forced it on her.” From everything he’d seen, the real monster was the one who still looked entirely human.

“...that’s really mean,” Lissa frowned.

“You have no idea,” the prince growled. “The whole reason she ran was to get away from him.”

“So, let me get this straight -- the whole time you were gone, you were just gettin’ cozy with some girl?” Sully demanded.

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Chrom mumbled, trying not to think of the last few nights they’d shared. It might have flustered him, once. Now it just left a sick sense of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

“We were worried sick, you fuckin’ trashlord!” the redhead snarled. “And you weren’t even in trouble!?”

“I thought I was, in the beginning,” the prince admitted. “And once I realized what was going on, I stayed to find out more and try to help. I came back hoping I’d be able to find a way to break the curse without killing her in the process. And then all this…”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. “I went back last night. Frederick had me convinced that I’d been deceived, and that she was party to what happened. She wasn’t, by the way,” he muttered, casting a pointed glance in the great knight’s direction. “But now she’s in danger because of me.”

“...what kind of danger?” Lissa asked, poking his sore shoulder. He managed, awkwardly, to shoo her away — which was a vast improvement over the numb paralysis.

“Her father found her.”

“Surprised you didn’t try killin’ him for her,” Sully grumbled.

“How do you think I ended up with this?” Chrom shot back, pointing at his arm.

“You told me you picked a fight with the guy who killed the exalt,” she protested.

“I did.”

It took a moment for that to sink in.

“Her dad killed Emm?” 

The prince looked back at his sister, nodding as she wrung the staff between her hands.

“And yet you _continue_ to insist that she is not an enemy?” Frederick snapped.

“If it weren’t for her, I never would have made it out alive,” Chrom stated, touching his shoulder as he tried again to move his injured arm. It was at least starting to feel a bit more normal, though the tingling sensation had yet to abate. “She warned me and I didn’t listen. When I tried to face him, she pulled me back. And instead of running, she made sure I got away. If she’d wanted me dead, she could have just stood aside. Instead she gave _everything_ to save me. And I won’t leave her to whatever else her father has planned.”

The great knight closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and released it very slowly. “Milord. I must protest. It seems very likely that this woman will be returning to Plegia. If you cross the border, their king _will_ consider it an act of war.”

“Aren’t we already at war?” the prince asked. “Plegian assassins murdered my sister--”

“We have no _proof_ of that,” Frederick stressed. “Only suspicions. The assassins bore no emblems, and even if -- as you claim -- the girl’s father is responsible, there is no reason to believe that they are in any way associated with the Plegian monarch. We cannot move aggressively without assurance that the attack was ordered by the king.”

No emblems. Just like the raider camp.

“I won’t sit idly by,” Chrom growled.

“You _cannot_ take further rash action, milord--”

“Prince Chrom!!”

The door to the garrison flew open, and in an instant every Shepherd had taken to their feet and drawn their weapons — only to relax, however slightly, as one of the two intruders stumbled and very nearly fell, but for the supportive hand of the woman beside her.

“Sumia?” Chrom ventured, approaching the pegasus knight and her red-haired companion. “What’s going on? I thought you were in training—”

“Oh, gods, Captain--”

“Please forgive the intrusion, milord,” the other woman said, pulling both herself and Sumia up to attention. “We have urgent news from the western border.”

The prince felt his stomach knot. “Speak,” he ordered.

The woman saluted crisply, and Sumia followed suit. “My name is Cordelia. Along with Sumia, I’m one of the pegasus knights who was stationed at the border with Plegia — we’re the only ones who remain of the guard.”

“What in Naga’s name happened!?” Frederick demanded.

“King Gangrel,” Sumia replied shakily.

“He led an army to the border,” Cordelia explained. “Our knight sisters implored us to carry word to Ylisstol of what happened--”

“They have a _monster,_ ” Sumia whispered.

Chrom’s heart lodged in his throat.

“We saw it as we retreated,” Cordelia shivered. “A black beast with horns -- it came from the Ylissean side of the pass, along with a troop of soldiers who joined in the fight against the pegasus knights -- I can still hear the screams…”

Sumia linked her arm with her fellow knight’s, holding Cordelia up as she began to tremble. “King Gangrel welcomed them. With open arms,” she added.

“Is that proof enough for you?” Chrom asked, turning to look at the ashen-faced great knight.

“...it seems enough to act upon,” Frederick replied gravely. 

“Good,” the prince nodded. “Sumia, Cordelia, get as much rest as you can. Frederick, make preparations -- tomorrow I want you and the Shepherds to start for Ferox. Tell the khans what happened. If we’re to have any hope of succeeding, we’ll need their aid.”

“And you, milord?”

“Sumia, Cordelia, Miriel, and I will make for Mount Prism. We’ll head for Ferox as soon as we’ve finished.”

Frederick bowed his head in defeat. “As you command, milord.”

As the garrison began to bustle with activity, Chrom took a moment to offer a silent plea to Naga: please, he prayed, let them arrive in time.

***

Her father had taken everything.

He had taken Henry, discharging the dark mage from his role as her caretaker and barring him from her company. He had taken her freedom, confining her to a suite of rooms large enough for her form by day to pass between -- but the only access to the halls beyond was far too narrow to slip past before dark, and guarded through the night. He’d taken her clothes, replacing them with a simple shift that that served only to cover, rather than comfort, her true self.

And slowly, inexorably, he was beginning to take her humanity.

Robin counted the days by her brief moments as herself. A week had passed, as near as she could tell, since she’d returned to her desert prison. A fortnight since her departure from Ylisse. She dreamed of it, some nights: the green forests silvered in the moonlight, the fire in the leaves as they changed and fell, the touch of snow on her skin as strong arms held her close…

She always woke in tears. And no matter how firmly she berated herself for such foolishness, it did not ease the ache in her heart.

Lying awake in the torchlight, trying to quiet her restless mind, a sound caught her attention. A faint hiss, coming from the doorway of the bedchamber. Rousing herself, Robin looked up…

“Henry?”

The dark mage beamed, bounding across the room and flinging himself at the bed. She grabbed him as he threw his arms around her, burying her peal of laughter in his collar as he snuggled close. “I’ve missed you so so _so much,_ Robin,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

“I’ve missed you, too, Henry,” she breathed, hugging him tighter. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t allowed--”

The dark mage grinned, sticking his tongue out as he pulled back. “Everybody’s asleep,” he snickered. “And I was real quiet sneaking in. Hey, I brought you something!”

She watched as he rummaged about under his cloak, finally producing a bundle of deep violet fabric with gold edging…

“My coat?”

He nodded excitedly as she took it in trembling hands, pulling it close and burying her face in the well-worn material. “Aversa might’ve taken all my other stuff, but I managed to sneak this past her,” Henry boasted.

Robin paused, drying her eyes as she looked up. “Your other stuff?”

The dark mage deflated slightly. “She took all the other clothes. And the tomes. And all my hexing ingredients.”

As swiftly as her mood had risen, it came crashing back down. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess, Henry…”

“No no, it’s okay!” he insisted. “I’m not allowed at the stashes anymore, so I’m starting to look for fresh stuff! See?” The dark mage pulled a few carefully wrapped bundles from the pouches in his sash, revealing an odd assortment of juniper seeds, acacia leaves, and a few spiny lizard tails. “It’s way better for hexing, too!”

“You have been busy, haven’t you,” she murmured. “So you’re doing alright? No trouble, or…”

“Nope! I’ve been real good about keeping my head down like you said, and nobody’s bothered me. I’m gonna get you out again, just you wait.”

Her smile softened as she unfolded the coat, wrapping it around Henry’s shoulders. “You should wear it until then,” she said.

“Really?” The dark mage looked up at her, tilting his head in confusion. “But it’s yours!”

“My father would destroy it if he found it here,” she sighed. “But I know it’s in good hands with you. Will you take care of it for me? At least for a little while longer?”

Henry pulled it closer, nestling down into the collar as he nodded. “I’m gonna do it,” he mumbled. “I’m gonna get you out. And Chrom’s gonna come help!”

Smoothing the dark mage’s pale hair, she shook her head. “Chrom won’t come, Henry. It’s just us.”

“But he _promised!”_ the dark mage protested.

Running her fingers over the gem’s facets, she leaned against his shoulder. “He’s a prince, Henry.”

“That means he’s _gotta_ come! Aren’t they all about honor and oaths?”

“Only in fairy tales,” she murmured. “Reality complicates things. He’s not going to start a war just to keep a promise to a Plegian heretic.”

“...but he _likes_ you.”

A bitter laugh rose in her chest, and she forced it back down. “Henry, he’s a prince of Ylisse. Naga’s blood. Why would he bother with a fellblood monster?”

“Don’t call yourself that.”

The dark mage wrapped his arms around her shaking shoulders, and she pressed close against him, hating the tears and the pain in her chest that had nothing to do with her curse. “You’re Robin,” he insisted. “You’re Robin, and he _likes_ you. He’ll come. I _know_ he will.”

She shook her head, a weak smile fighting its way onto her face. “I suppose we’ll see, then,” she conceded.

Henry grinned, bumping his forehead against hers. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure something out.”

“I hope so,” she breathed. 

A soft sound from the next room made them freeze. “I better go,” the dark mage whispered, pulling her hood up over his head. “I’ll be back, though. I promise I will. Just hold tight.”

“I’ll try,” she nodded. Squeezing his fingers briefly, Robin watched as Henry slid off the bed and into the shadows along the wall, waiting as her new caretaker walked past the doorway before sneaking out behind her back.

“Is everything alright?” the woman asked.

“Fine,” Robin agreed. “Just some trouble sleeping.”

“I could help with that.” The sorceress’ grin sent chills down Robin’s spine.

“That’s quite alright,” she insisted. “I’ll be fine. Really. I apologize if I disturbed you.”

“No need to apologize. Simply call if there’s anything you need. Anything at all.”

Robin nodded, watching as the woman slid out of the room again. And then she curled into herself, waiting for sleep to take her again, and praying that this time she would have no dreams at all.

***

Chrom had never visited Mount Prism before. Not in his memory, at least. Tradition stated that every member of the ruling house needed Naga’s blessing before assuming their rule, but even before their father’s reign the task of acquiring it had been passed to the monks of Her church, who made their pilgrimage to the sacred mountain on behalf of the exalted lineage. If Emmeryn had ever been to the summit, she never spoke of it.

The start of the journey had been simple enough. The pegasi made good time even carrying two riders, and within days they reached the summer palace at the mountain’s base. After a night of rest and a morning of preparation, they began to wheel their way up toward the shrouded summit.

And that was where the difficulties began.

There came a point where the pegasi simply could not fly any higher. Forced to land on the mountain face, they made their way along the switchback trails, ever mindful of the steep drop awaiting them should they falter. The heights wore on them quickly, and they rested often rather than push recklessly on and invite disaster.

Most nights he wondered, as he tried to sleep, if Robin was safe. How much time did they have before her father took action? Before she lost whatever hope she had? What would he do if they reached her and she was already gone, either by her father’s designs or her own desperation? 

That possibility shook him to the core.

Their supplies were nearly exhausted by the time they broke past the clouds -- but the sight that met them overwhelmed any hardship they might have suffered in the climb. A sea of flowers covered the plateau, waving gently in the morning breeze and beckoning them toward the alabaster temple built atop the final rise. They made their way along the path, briefly entranced by the veins of ever-shifting color winding through the pale stone, mounted the low stairs, and passed under the grand archway to the sunny interior where a small group of monks knelt in prayer.

Chrom cleared his throat quietly, and a fair-haired woman looked up from her meditation. “Good day,” she said, rising to her feet. “Have you come seeking Naga’s blessing…?”

She stopped, and the prince saw her gaze fall on his brand. “Oh -- by the gods, Prince Chrom! Please forgive us,” she begged, bowing deeply as her companions scrambled to follow suit. “We did not expect that you would make the journey, Your Highness, or we would have escorted you -- I am Libra, my fellows and I were sent on your behalf, we did not think--”

“It’s alright -- please, calm yourselves,” the prince insisted. “I’ve come seeking audience with Naga, that I might awaken Falchion’s true power.”

The cleric glanced at her companions before opening her arms. “Have you recovered the Fire Emblem, Your Highness?”

Chrom glanced at Miriel, who adjusted her spectacles thoughtfully. “The Emblem is still lost,” he admitted.

Libra bowed her head. “Then I fear there is nothing that can be done.”

His heart seized. “Why?”

“The Emblem is the proof of the sacred covenant between Naga and the exalted bloodline of House Ylisse,” the clergywoman explained. “With it gone from the hands of its rightful bearer, She will not grace us with Her presence.”

“What do we do now, Captain?” Sumia asked.

“There has to be some way,” the prince pleaded. “Can we at least _try?”_

Libra looked again to her fellow monks, who nodded after a moment’s hesitation. “I cannot guarantee that She will speak with you, Your Highness. But you may approach the altar.”

“Thank you.” Bowing his head, Chrom moved deeper into the sanctum, approaching the dais beneath the tear-shaped window. Glancing back, he realized that the monks had stayed behind, barring Sumia, Cordelia, and Miriel from following; only the cleric joined him in the light. “...what do I say?” he asked.

“You need only call out, and She will hear,” Libra replied gently.

Not exactly the most helpful response, if he wanted to avoid offending a goddess.

Kneeling before the altar, Chrom thought back to the ceremonial words used at every great gathering, every feast, every celebration. “Heavenly Mother,” he began, “Sun of Our Skies, Light of Our Lives.” He paused, casting a questioning glance toward the cleric, who smiled and nodded. With somewhat more confidence, the prince continued, “We bid You watch over us and allow us the brilliance of Your presence. I am Prince Chrom of House Ylisse, the lineage that bears your brand as proof of Your blessing. I seek audience with You, in hopes of awakening the true power of Your holy blade.”

Silence. Chrom held his breath, praying silently for an answer to his plea…

“Rise, Prince Chrom of House Ylisse.”

Chrom lifted his head. A figure stood on the dais that had, mere moments before, been empty. Bathed in the light streaming through the window, she seemed to glow with an ethereal radiance as she opened her arms to him.

“It is my great honor to be graced with Your presence,” he said, bowing his head even as he took to his feet. “Please, I would beg your blessing to awaken Falchion’s true power.”

The woman folded her hands before her. “Why do you seek the power of my fang, young Prince?”

Chrom’s hand slipped down to rest on the blade’s hilt. “To restore something lost. And to break the curse on an innocent victim.”

The shimmering figure tilted her head slightly. “The reclamation of the Fire Emblem is of grave import. But what manner of curse would require such power to dispel?”

“There is a gem called the Heart of the Moon…”

The woman’s expression darkened. “Grima’s stone.”

“...I had heard rumors that it came from the fell dragon,” Chrom agreed.

“Grima did not create the stone,” she corrected. “It was the stone he bore to walk among men and beget his defiled bloodline. It has been lost for centuries.”

“It has been found. And its curse binds it to a woman and changes her form into a six-eyed beast by day.”

“Then she is no woman, but Grima’s own tainted blood.”

The prince felt a faint prickle of anger and forced it out of mind. “She is innocent of any wrongdoing--”

“None of the fell dragon’s lineage are innocent--”

“And all descended from you are?” Chrom demanded. “My father sent his own people to be slaughtered without a second thought, and you would declare him innocent?”

“Your Highness,” Libra hissed desperately.

The figure lifted her head, looking coolly down on the prince as his trembling hand tightened on Falchion’s hilt. “The woman you denounce saved my life, and forfeit _everything_ in doing so. If you would revile her for a kindness shown to your own blood, then perhaps my father was the height of your lineage, after all.”

He met the woman’s stare without flinching, feeling his anger burning through the chill of her presence. The air around her seemed to shimmer, the light glittering through her aura as her scarf billowed and swirled…

A blinding glow overtook her form, and Chrom threw his arm up to shield his eyes. A hushed cry went up from beyond the sanctum, and Libra breathed a soft prayer— 

**_“Take up your blade, Prince Chrom of House Ylisse.”_**

The voice shook the stones beneath his feet. But it did not sway him. Drawing Falchion from its sheath, he looked up at the dragon floating over the altar, her opalescent scales shimmering in the light behind her.

She was truly beautiful to behold. No wonder she’d been the object of such worship.

**_“If this is truly the course you seek, invoke the ritual.”_ **

Chrom glanced at the cleric beside him. “How?”

Libra’s folded hands shook as she fought to steady her breath. “Repeat these words,” she whispered.

Chrom listened. And then he stepped forward, mounting the stairs to kneel in the great dragon’s shadow.

“Hear me, Naga! I bear proof of our sacred covenant!” Lifting Falchion high, he took the hilt in both hands, turning the blade to rest its point on the gleaming altar. “In the name of the exalted blood, I ask for the divine dragon’s power. Baptize me in fire, that I may become your true son!”

The dragon opened her jaws, golden sparks licking at her scales.

And then a stream of white-hot fire engulfed him.

Chrom’s hands tightened, his shoulders hunching as he bowed his head against the pain searing his senses. Was this the punishment for those who crossed the divine dragon? Burned alive, under the guise of granting a boon? Or was this simply what a dragon’s power felt like, pouring into a human body never meant to hold it?

Robin had said, once, that it tore her apart. And she had suffered for years beneath that curse, losing herself every morning as it ripped her humanity away. 

But through it all, she had endured.

What was one moment, compared to that?

The flames subsided. Struggling to his feet, the prince found his clothes a bit scorched, but otherwise no worse for the wear -- and as he raised his sword, the glow of Naga’s fire trailed behind the luminous blade.

He looked up as the dragon, once more hidden under the guise of a woman, stepped toward him. “Your heart has been tested and deemed worthy,” she decreed. “Cleansed in my fire, your desire has proven to burn the stronger.”

“I thank you, Heavenly Mother,” the prince murmured, bowing his head. She inclined hers in turn as he stepped back, moving to leave the dais-- 

“Know this, my son: the power of my fang, even at its height, cannot banish the fell dragon’s nature from the woman you wish to save.”

Chrom stopped, looking back at the woman as she folded her hands before her once more. “She will forever be Grima’s blood. That curse cannot be lifted from her.”

“She is more than her blood,” the prince replied.

“Perhaps,” Naga conceded. “But if the Heart is truly bound to her, you must take great care. A dragonstone carries immeasurable power: to break it would unleash it all into whatever the stone holds sway over. No creature, human or dragon, could survive such an onslaught.”

Chrom’s chest tightened. “Thank you,” he managed after a moment. Naga nodded slightly in acknowledgement as the prince stepped down from the altar, touching Libra’s shoulder to rouse her from her supplication. She bowed deeply to the woman standing on the dais before turning toward the temple entrance.

“What will you do now, Your Highness?” the cleric asked softly.

“We make for Ferox to join the rest of the Shepherds, then south to Plegia to reclaim the Emblem,” he replied. If Robin was being held there, more than likely they would find her wherever the Mad King was.

“The journey will be a long one,” Libra noted. “Please allow me to accompany you, Your Highness.”

Chrom smiled, laying his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “We’d be glad to have a cleric join us. The trip here was hard enough--”

“Monk.”

The prince paused. “Come again?”

“Women are clerics, Your Highness. I am a man; therefore, I am a monk.”

A very long and very awkward silence settled between them. “I. I apologize, I didn’t mean to imply…”

The monk smiled and shook his head. “It’s quite alright, Your Highness. You realized your mistake quickly enough.”

Not as quickly as he likely should have.

As they moved out of the temple sanctum and into the sunlight beyond, another woman appeared and bowed before them. “Prince Chrom, Naga bade me see your company off,” she explained. “It would be my pleasure to take you anywhere within the lands under Her protection.”

“Regna Ferox?” the prince suggested.

“Alas, no,” she said. “But I can escort you as far as the border.”

“We would be grateful for it,” Chrom smiled. “Lead on, then.”

The woman smiled, stepping out among the flowering fields. The light seemed to twist around her as she moved, shimmering in bands of pastel color, briefly obscuring her shape…

_“Fascinating.”_

The silver dragon settled lightly in the grass, lowering her serpentine neck invitingly. Cordelia and Sumia hesitated as Miriel hurried forward to study the creature in greater detail, with Libra close behind in a rather frantic attempt to stop the mage from causing the divine dragons any further offense. The prince shook his head, looking once more over the peak, its fields in full bloom despite of the fast approach of winter…

Crouching down, Chrom picked a few deep violet blossoms from the rainbow sea, fastening them at his shoulder with the clasp of his cape. He doubted the desert had many flowers to offer. Rejoining the rest of his companions, the prince carefully climbed onto the dragon’s back, ignoring Miriel’s enthusiastic rambling as they lifted off the ground, floated languidly to the edge of the plateau, and slid down through the cloud banks toward the land far below.

Soon they would enter Plegia. Chrom only prayed that Robin could hold until they arrived.

\-----

The appearance of a dragon overhead caused a panic at the Longfort. By the time Chrom and his companions disembarked, a force of guards had spilled out along the wall to face them, only to be disappointed when the shimmering beast took flight again and vanished into the clouds.

It took a bit of diplomacy to convince General Raimi to let them in (which, true to Feroxi custom, consisted mostly of yelling and trading blows, much to Libra’s apparent horror), but in short order the Ylissean party had been bundled into a Feroxi wagon and was making swift progress toward the khans’ stronghold. The Shepherds descended on their captain the moment he set foot outside the fortress, talking over one another and asking more questions than he could possibly follow. Frederick had to physically disperse the mob...though he did not manage to disengage Lissa from her brother’s arm.

“I take it you were successful, milord?” the great knight inquired.

Chrom carefully drew Falchion from its scabbard. With the sun hidden behind a thick layer of clouds, its light shone all the brighter. With this...with this, gods willing, they could succeed--

“I like your shiny toothpick.”

Chrom turned a wry smile on the woman leaning against his shoulder. “Thanks, Khan Flavia. I’m pretty fond of it, too.”

“It’s good to see you again, Prince Chrom,” she laughed, pounding his back hard enough to make him stumble. “You’ve been missing out on all the excitement so far -- but at least you showed up in time for the fun.”

Something about the east khan’s wink unnerved him. “The fun…?”

“A great deal of troubling information has come to light since our arrival, milord,” Frederick explained as Flavia led them into the fortress. “The khans have already begun to lay plans--”

“HEY OAF!”

Chrom jumped at the east khan’s shout, watching as a bald man winced and slammed his hand on the table before him. “I’M RIGHT HERE, WOMAN, YOU DON’T HAVE TO YELL,” he roared back. 

Flavia laughed, flinging herself into a seat across from him and gesturing for the Shepherds to take whatever places they could find. “Look who finally showed up,” she chuckled.

“Took you long enough, boy.”

“Good to see you, too, Khan Basilio,” the prince nodded. “I hear I’ve missed some excitement.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” the west khan grumbled. “Best start at the beginning: pretty sure you know Gangrel ordered your exalt’s assassination.”

“We had strong suspicions,” Chrom agreed quietly, folding his hands as Lissa scooted a bit closer to him.

“Well, I got your confirmation right here.” Basilio gestured to the ginger-haired man next to him, his boots propped on the table. “Want to fill the boy in?”

The red-head pulled the toothpick from his mouth, revealing it to be a lollipop. “You’re the boss,” he shrugged.

“Who are you?” the prince asked.

“Name’s Gaius. Thief by trade. I was hired by this real creepy guy to break into a vault in Ylisstol Palace -- now, so we’re clear, I had no clue they were goin’ after the exalt. I feel real bad about that. She seemed like a real nice lady. But I did my part, liftin’ a shield from the castle. Then tall, dark, an’ creepy goes off an’ gets himself a damn _monster--_ ”

“Was she hurt?”

The thief stared at him. “Was what hurt? The monster?”

“It’s a long story,” Chrom sighed, “and it can wait for now. Was she hurt? Did she have a white-haired boy with her?”

“Yeah,” Gaius frowned. “There was a lady with tattos and a crazy outfit and a kid that stuck real close to the monster. Kid was a little bloody, but the monster seemed fine.”

Small favors. At least she hadn’t been harmed.

“My apologies for interrupting,” the prince said. “Go on.”

The thief gave him a puzzled look, but shrugged and continued. “So we make it to the border of Plegia, an’ who meets us but the godsdamn Mad King himself, an’ he starts _gushing_ when tall, dark, an’ creepy hands him the exalt’s crown.”

“And the Emblem? The...the shield you took,” he amended at Gaius’ questioning shrug.

“Here’s the thing: the Mad King didn’t get that. Tall, dark, an’ creepy tells me to head to Ferox an’ make off with some red gem the khans are supposed to have. And considerin’ the fact that this guy killed the exalt, I didn’t really feel like testin’ my luck crossin’ him, so off I went.”

“Which is where I caught him, and how I got wind of all this,” the west khan finished.

“So what’s the good word from your spies?” Flavia prodded.

“There’s something weird going on down south,” Basilio replied. “On top of Gangrel pulling this crap, I’ve been getting reports of activity around The Dragon’s Table -- Plegians don’t do shit there unless it’s _big._ And they’re apparently huntin’ manaketes, too.”

“Manaketes,” the prince repeated.

“Members of the divine dragon tribe who use dragonstones in order to manifest a human appearance and control their draconic energy,” Miriel offered.

“Why would they be after dragons?” Chrom muttered.

“Hell if I know. But whatever they’ve got goin’ on, I don’t like it,” the west khan growled. “This seems a lot bigger than just a blood-crazed madman gettin’ his kicks.”

“So what do we do about it?” the prince pressed.

“Glad you asked,” the east khan grinned. “See, the oaf is convinced that Gangrel’s not the real problem.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Chrom said.

“As am I,” Flavia nodded. “But he is still a problem. So Basilio and I have been amassing all the forces we can spare along the border to make it look like we’re planning to invade.”

“What? Why?” the prince demanded. “Gangrel hasn’t attacked Ferox--”

“Not _directly,_ no,” the east khan agreed. “But he’s bound to know that you sent an emissary to see us after what happened with the exalt. And we do have an alliance. The Mad King wouldn’t be wrong to assume that Ferox is preparing an attack in defense of our treaty partners.”

“His response has been swift,” the west khan added. “The Plegian army is mobilizing to defend the border waste south of the Longfort. And it’s an impressive force,” he chuckled. “I’d wager most everything away from the border is operating with skeleton crews for defense. Places like The Dragon’s Table.”

“...what do you have in mind?” Chrom asked slowly.

“We’re gonna keep Gangrel busy up here,” Flavia explained. “You and your Shepherds are gonna sneak past him and take care of the real problem down there. There’s a section of the Longfort built across a narrow stretch of lakeshore east of the waste: you and yours can sneak across there. Keep your heads down as you head south and you should be fine.”

“And you’re alright with this plan?” the prince asked, looking to Basilio as he rose from the table.

“Boy, this _plan_ is my idea,” the west khan laughed. “The ingrate over there couldn’t come up with this if she had two years to prepare.” The east khan made a rude gesture as she took to her feet. “Gaius here will go with you. He’ll be your man on the inside, since he can make contact with whoever’s really pulling the strings without raising suspicions. We’ve got everything else pretty well set and ready to go -- at your earliest convenience, we can get this party started.”

“The sooner the better,” Chrom stated. “I’d ask the rest of today to prepare for the journey, but we can begin tomorrow.”

“Good man!” Flavia cheered, pounding his shoulder. “We’ll feast tonight to send you off!”

“Dammit, woman, is feasting all you think about?” Basilio demanded.

Chrom did not stay to hear the rest of the argument.

By dusk, their numbers had grown. Along with the thief, the west khan entrusted his right-hand fighter, a stoic myrmidon named Lon’qu, to their mission. Flavia recommended the services of a sellsword named Gregor -- according to her, the only man to have fought Basilio to a standstill -- who happened to be in residence at the fortress; and in his company came a small girl with pale green hair who laughed when asked if she was the mercenary’s granddaughter. The prince wasn’t entirely sure what Gregor meant when he said that the child was old enough to be his many-times-over-great-grandmother, but it seemed safer not to ask. And after a brief introduction to an envoy of Valm (and a spate of deliberation with the man’s sensible retainer), they added an archer and a wyvern rider to their group. 

But for once, morning could not come soon enough.

Chrom woke before dawn, and for a few minutes he lay in the dark, wondering how long the journey south would take, how much time they still had, whether they were already too late…

Gods, that thought made him sick.

Rousing slowly, the prince made his way out into the stronghold, winding his way through the complex maze of corridors and stairs until he came to the roof of the building. Even at this hour, the braziers in the central arena were lit, and Feroxis had begun to clear away the snow that had blown over the stones in the night--

“Well well! Didn’t expect to see you up so early. Pre-battle jitters keeping you awake?”

“Something like that,” he sighed as Flavia moved to stand beside him.

“You know, I love it up here at this hour,” the east khan murmured. “The first light just barely backing the eastern mountains, all of Ferox sleeping soundly...we may be warriors, but what we fight for is the moments like this. The peace that our strength assures. So tell me, Prince Chrom: what’re you here fighting for?”

“For Ylisse,” he answered without hesitation. “For the peace that was stolen from us.”

“Those flowers on your shoulder disagree.”

He glanced at the dark blooms, reaching a hand up to touch the petals. “...there’s someone in Plegia I made a promise to,” he relented. “Someone I’ve already failed once, and who I can’t fail again.”

“She sounds like a special woman.”

“She is,” he smiled.

The east khan shook her head, patting his shoulder gently. “Boy, you’re in it deep and you haven’t even realized, have you?”

“In what deep?” he asked as she pulled a pendant on a heavy chain over her head.

Instead of replying, she held the ornament out to him. “Here. This old thing may not look like much, but it’s pure Feroxi steel forged by the first eastern Khan Regnant herself. It’s seen me through more scrapes than I can count. For what it’s worth, I hope it can protect you and your lady.”

“...thank you, Khan Flavia,” he murmured, accepting the sturdy chain.

“Just make sure you come back in one piece,” she grinned. “We’d best get going. The fighting starts soon.”

He followed the east khan’s lead as she made her way down to the heart of the fortress, hefting the pendant in his palm. A simple piece, without inlay, the Feroxi mountains etched deep into its surface while the edges bore a curious resemblance to the Longfort’s battlements.

Smiling to himself, Chrom slipped the chain over his head. With Ferox’s strength to cover their advance, they stood a real chance of succeeding.

He would find her. He would free her. And he would see her safe, at last.

***

Henry still remembered the day he met Robin like it was yesterday. He’d been brought to the capital just a few days before, and he was still trying to get his bearings and figure out where things were. He’d opened a door hoping to find something -- he didn’t remember what anymore -- and instead of whatever he’d been looking for, he found her. Huge, dark, all teeth and claws and scales and feathers and horns, sprawled in a pool of crimson ichor.

Looking at her, he’d had three thoughts, one by one.

First, that she was beautiful. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, even more beautiful than the carvings of Grima they had in the temples.

Second, that she was dying. He could see the blood spreading, spilling from the deep gouges in her chest, and her ragged gasps were the kind that things made before their last breaths.

And third...that he had to do something. He couldn’t let something so beautiful die. 

All he’d had then was his Fire tome. He’d done his best, guiding the flames under his hands to close the wounds, wrapping his cloak around her chest as a bandage because he hadn’t thought anything else would work. And then he’d lifted her head into his lap and stroked her scales, praying as hard as he could to Grima and any other gods who might be listening that she’d wake up.

He’d been surprised when she suddenly turned into a girl. And a little disappointed. But not enough to leave. And when her dad found out about it, he made Henry her full-time caretaker.

It had been hard for a while. Once she got her strength back, she just hurt herself all over again every time he turned away. And he hadn’t understood why something so beautiful would ever want to do that. He’d begged her in tears, once, to tell him why as he wrapped her bloody forelimbs.

 _Because this isn’t me,_ she’d told him.

He hadn’t really understood it then. And some days, he still didn’t. But that was how they started talking. How he got to know her. How he became her friend. That was something she needed, he thought. 

It was something he’d needed, too. 

It wasn’t hard to get to her anymore. He’d been good about keeping his head down and not causing trouble since they got back to Plegia, and most people had stopped paying any attention to him at all. Skipping to her door, the dark mage let himself in with a smile, rocking back and forth on his heels as Tharja glowered at him.

“What do you want, Henry?” she demanded.

“I’m here to see Robin,” he chirped.

“You know you’re not allowed,” she replied. “Validar’s orders were _very_ specific.”

“Awwww, come on, just for a little while?” he whined. “A couple minutes? Please?”

Tharja rolled her eyes, glancing at the doorway leading deeper into Robin’s suite. “...fine,” she grumbled. “Just for a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Tharja!” he giggled, bounding past her into the dim rooms beyond. He heard her get up to follow, but he didn’t really care. It had been a long time since he’d seen Robin. And he really missed her. He didn’t care if someone saw.

“Robin,” he sang, swinging around another doorway. “Guess who’s here?”

Her back was to him as he made his way over to where she lay. There were a bunch of platters around, heaped with raw meat and all untouched. Not that he was surprised. But even over that, he could smell something that made his throat close up. Something he hadn’t smelled in a long time.

Tharja hung back in the doorway as Henry sat down by Robin’s head, stroking her smooth scales and running a hand along one curvy horn. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he smiled, watching her fiery eyes light up. 

**“Henry?”**

“In the flesh,” he cackled as she nosed his hair. “I’ve missed you.”

**“I’ve missed you, too.”**

Wrapping his arms around her muzzle, Henry lay his cheek against her warm forehead, holding on tight and wishing he didn’t have to let go. But the smell was stronger here, and it made his chest hurt, because he knew what it meant.

“You’ve been doing it again, haven’t you?” he mumbled.

She didn’t answer. And she didn’t look at him when he finally pulled back. “You promised you wouldn’t do that anymore.”

**“I know. I know, but I can’t…”**

Her voice broke as he put his arms around her neck, his cheek pressed against the old scars he’d made. “It’s okay, Robin,” he whispered. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise -- you just have to hold on a little longer.”

**“I’m trying. But he’s taking all I have left.”**

Henry peeked again at the untouched plates, tightening his arms around her neck. “I’m gonna get you out, Robin. I will, I _promise_ I will. I just need a couple more things a-and…”

He sniffled as she nuzzled his hair, sitting back and scrubbing at his eyes before pulling a few phials and cloths from his sash. “I wouldn’t usually ask, but...can I have a few things? I almost have enough, and it’ll really help…”

She nodded, shifting to turn her forelimbs toward him. He could see the blood he’d only smelled before, deep red and still seeping as he collected it in tiny glass containers, along with a few strewn scales and feathers torn loose by her teeth and claws. And then he cleaned her limbs, smoothing down her plumes before wrapping her wounds the way he had before.

The way he hadn’t needed to in a long, long time.

“Make sure you wrap ‘em again tonight, okay?” She nodded, folding her forelimbs under her. “...I’ll figure something out, Robin,” he whispered, hugging her tight. “I promise I will. Just hold on a little while longer, okay?”

**“I’ll try.”**

Stroking her scaly cheek one more time, Henry put his things away, picked himself up, and walked back toward the dark mage leaning against the doorframe. “Thanks for letting me see her, Tharja,” he said, putting on his best smile.

“You’re the only one she talks to, you know,” the woman muttered, her attention fixed on Robin. Henry looked back at the dark form, already curled up with her back to the door.

“She’s my friend,” Henry shrugged. “And I’m her friend. That’s what friends do. They talk to each other. They listen to each other. And they help each other. Right?”

Tharja rolled her eyes. “Friendships are overrated,” she grumbled.

“You should make some better ones, then,” Henry giggled, skipping past her to the door leading out into the hall. Peering out to make sure no one was watching, he scampered out of Robin’s room and through the narrow, twisty passages leading out into the desert.

Just a few more things and he’d have enough for another ward. And once he had that, they could go, away from here, away from her dad, away to where they’d been happy. Where he knew they’d be happy again.

Just a few more things, and they’d be free.


	8. Who Fight to Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shepherds arrive at the Plegian capital, and a chance encounter with an old friend gives them a secret way into the palace. But something looms in the days ahead, and the reunion Chrom has sought for so long does not go as planned...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So at this point I have a backlog of chapters that just need beta review. Depending on how that goes, this story could be complete within the next two weeks. Who's excited? 8D 
> 
> More perspective breaks in this chapter! Just as a reminder, dashes (-) indicate a change of scene, while (*) indicate a change of perspective. Just so that you know what to expect going forward. 
> 
> And thank you again to **[AcquaSole](archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole)** for beta review on your gift fic (and for bearing with me through all this rambling about Plegian hexes, because oh there is a lot of it and I loved every minute)!

The desert was as harsh and beautiful as she’d claimed.

Even in winter, the days were warm as Ylisse’s summers, though the nights rivaled even Ferox’s infamous chill. Few clouds graced the sky, and the sun’s heat baked the shifting dunes as the Shepherds made their way south toward the Plegian capital. They stopped frequently wherever they found shade or water, but what truly slowed their progress was the sand that slid beneath their feet. 

While they could have made better time flying, the Ylissean pegasi would have attracted immediate attention from the Plegians they were trying so hard to avoid, giving away their location and intentions. So they struggled on through the desert on foot, with Cherche and her wyvern making short flights to scout the terrain ahead and report back; Valmese wyverns and Plegian wyverns were very different creatures, she pointed out, but a brief glimpse from a great distance would not put them in danger. 

Chrom had stopped counting the days. It only strained his nerves to think of how much time had already passed, and how little they might have left. He focused instead on the castle that rose over the horizon, its gilded towers shining in the sunlight and gleaming under the waning moon as they approached. She would be there. 

She _had_ to be there. 

They arrived at the bluff below the castle as afternoon faded toward twilight, rounding the high mesa in search of any safe way up. Come nightfall, they could infiltrate the palace -- they just needed to find a way there first.

It proved more easily said than done. 

As they came around the ridge, they found a long wall stretching into the distance, guarding the stairs carved into the rock face in the shadow of an immense six-eyed skull. The prince had never seen anything like it before -- even Naga would have been dwarfed by the creature that left it.

Mounting the wall or the mesa would prove too risky. They would need to find another way past. And that would have to wait until after dark, when the shadows could better hide them from the archers posted along the ramparts. 

The guard changed and thinned as dusk settled. And the Shepherds prepared to move out--

Frederick’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. The prince looked back -- and saw, in the faint moonlight, a shadow moving on the sands behind them.

The Shepherds turned as one, weapons drawn, while the figure approached around the ridge, pausing just out of sight as the sand shifted…

“Gotcha!”

A shape jumped out into the light, plucking a scorpion off the ground and holding it up to the moonlight by its tail. “Ooh, you’re a big one, aren’cha?” 

Chrom knew that voice. 

“...Henry?” he called stepping forward.

The rest of the Shepherds jumped as the mage looked toward them, the bug still squirming in his hand. A moment passed--

And Henry’s face lit up. _“CHROM!!”_ he laughed, flinging the scorpion away and launching himself at the prince. “Holy _wow_ you’re _here_ \-- I mean, I _knew_ you were gonna come, I _knew_ you would but you’re _really here oh WOW I’ve missed you so MUCH…”_

“I’ve missed you, too, Henry,” he chuckled, patting the mage’s hair as Henry hugged him tight. “But what are _you_ doing here? Where’s Robin?”

The mage looked up--

“Step back, milord.”

Chrom sighed, wrapping an arm around Henry’s shoulders as he turned to face the impressive array of weapons trained on the mage’s chest. “Everyone, this is Henry,” he explained patiently. “He’s Robin’s friend. And mine. So please lower your arms.”

“Milord, that is a Plegian dark mage--”

“Frederick, I’m not going to repeat myself.”

The great knight scowled as Chrom touched Falchion’s hilt. But he relented, however grudgingly, lowering his axe as the rest of the Shepherds followed suit.

“Are they your friends?” Henry asked. 

“They are,” the prince agreed. “These are the Shepherds, the finest warriors Ylisse has to offer.”

“And...they came all this way to help Robin?”

“We did,” Chrom smiled. 

The mage beamed and stepped forward. “Welp, any friend of Chrom’s is a friend of mine -- I’m Henry! I’m a dark mage and I like fire magic and when it comes to spells I’m _hex-_ cellent!”

The prince pressed a hand to his face as the silence stretched. “Henry, please don’t start with the puns--”

Lissa giggled. 

“Hey, somebody gets it!” Henry laughed.

“Don’t encourage him or he won’t stop,” Chrom warned. 

“But he said he’s _hex-_ cellent!” the princess protested. “And he’s a dark mage! It’s perfect!”

“If you think that one’s good, I’ve got a million more!” Henry snickered. 

“Really?” Lissa asked. 

“Of _curse!”_

The prince groaned as his sister buried another fit of laughter in her sleeves, laying a hand on the mage’s shoulder. “Let’s save the puns for later. Do you know where Robin is?”

“Sure I do!” Henry nodded.

“How is she?” 

The dark mage’s smile faded. “Not good. Her dad doesn’t let her go anywhere, or even have her coat, and he only gives her stuff to eat during the day and it’s always raw meat and things, and he doesn’t even use her _name_ he always calls her _fellblood_ and she’s _Robin_ and I-I think she’s starting to forget--”

“Can’t you do anything to help?”

Henry twisted his tunic between his hands. “He doesn’t let me see her anymore.”

“But I thought he appointed you as her caretaker,” Chrom protested. 

“He took it away when we got back here,” the mage whimpered. “And he made somebody else her caretaker and I’ve only gotten to see Robin a couple times since then a-and…”

“It’s okay, Henry,” the prince murmured. “We’re here now. We’ll save her.”

“Promise?” the mage sniffled. 

“I swear,” Chrom insisted.

Henry smiled, scrubbing his eyes with the hem of his cape. “I knew you’d come. I told her so.”

The prince chuckled, patting the mage’s shoulder gently. “We need to find a way in. Can you take us?”

Henry leaned over to see around Chrom, counting under his breath. “Wow, you brought a lot of friends. I don’t think I can get everybody inside without somebody noticing.”

“How well defended is the palace?” Frederick asked. 

“There’s guards all over,” the mage shrugged. “It’s a palace.”

“I thought most of the soldiers would have gone when Gangrel’s army mobilized,” the prince muttered. 

“You mean the castle? Oh, yeah, that’s empty. But the palace underneath is still full of Robin’s dad’s men.”

“...underneath,” Chrom repeated, glancing at the solid stone beside them. 

“Yeah!”

“...can you show me?”

“Sure! But I might have to hex you first, to get you in.”

“You will do no such thing!” the great knight snapped, stepping in front of the prince. 

“Frederick,” Chrom sighed, moving around him. “I trust Henry. What do you propose?” he asked, watching as the dark mage rummaged through the various contents in his sash.

“Well...probably the easiest thing would be a ward -- like what I put on Robin, only instead of keeping people from finding you, it would keep people from seeing you...no, not that one…”

“You’re gonna make him _invisible?”_ Lissa piped up, moving to watch as Henry unwrapped a few deep violet feathers. 

“Well, yeah, kinda,” the dark mage chuckled. “Only he’ll still be there. People’s attention will slide right past him. Oh, it’s _hilarious_ doing that to somebody without them knowing, they get so upset when nobody notices them…”

“Do you have everything you need to make it?” Chrom asked. 

“Almost...I just need some hair and a thing to bind it to...like that!” he shouted, pointing at the pendant hanging on the prince’s chest. Shrugging, Chrom removed it and handed the heavy chain over, tentatively pulling a few strands of hair and offering them to Henry as the mage plucked a few of his own. “I’m not gonna make the same mistake I did with Robin,” he muttered. “I’m gonna make sure I can still find you.”

As Henry sat down, the rest of the Shepherds gathered to watch, with Miriel taking studious notes as the dark mage arranged an odd assortment of seemingly random items -- feathers, leaves, and what looked unsettlingly like scorpion legs, among other things -- around the east khan’s pendant, winding a few strands of hair around the rough edge and another around the ring that fastened the ornament to its chain. And then he went still, his hands hovering just over the objects as he whispered a few incomprehensible words, the air wavering around him like heat haze…

“Done!”

The prince looked down as Henry lifted the pendant, holding it out with a brilliant smile. “Am I supposed to feel any different?” Chrom asked, slipping the chain over his head. 

“By the gods--”

_“Fascinating.”_

“Holy moly! Where’d you go!?”

The prince blinked, looking between the assembled Shepherds -- all of whom seemed to be staring just past him. “How did you do that?” he murmured, touching the ornament’s etched face. 

“With magic!” the mage laughed, collecting the feathers and burying the rest of the suddenly crumbling items in the sand. “As long as you have that on, nobody but me’s gonna see you. Unless you do something stupid. So don’t do anything stupid.”

“My brother’s an _expert_ at doing stupid things,” Lissa snickered. 

“Hey!”

Frederick cleared his throat nervously. “We will wait here for your return, milord,” the great knight announced, looking about three feet left of where Chrom was standing. “Please do make haste.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised. “Let’s go, Henry.”

Grinning broadly, the dark mage scampered around the cliff face, sliding his hand across the stone as the prince followed in his wake. “Why are we going this way? Aren’t the steps back there?” 

“To the castle, yeah,” Henry agreed. “But we’re not going to the castle.”

“We’re not?”

The mage paused as his fingers ran over a crack in the rock. Touching the wind-worn surface in a few places, he put his shoulder to the stone and heaved--

It moved.

Chrom gaped as a dark seam appeared in the rock, opening just enough for a man to pass through. Henry waved him on, pushing the passage closed once the prince stepped into the darkness beyond. “Watch your step,” the mage snickered, taking Chrom’s hand and leading him up several flights of pitch-black stairs until, at last, a narrow seam of light glowed from the wall ahead. Pushing against it, Henry peered out into the hall beyond -- and, seeming satisfied, gestured for the prince to follow as he slid into the light. The wall sealed itself behind them, the neat stonework seeming untouched to all but the most careful examination. 

“How did you find all this?” Chrom breathed. 

The mage lifted a finger to his lips before folding his hands behind his back and skipping down the corridor. Following along, the prince took a few moments to marvel at the elaborate etchings carved into the walls, most of which seemed hewn out of the mesa itself. He’d never stopped to consider what the Plegian castle would be like, but he never could have imagined this twisting honeycomb of passages -- clearly intended to defy aggressors and shelter as many lives as possible within its confines. 

Chrom lost all track of the turns Henry took. He only noticed when the dark mage stopped and tried a door, frowned, and knocked. “Hey, Tharja!” he sang. “I know you’re in there!”

A lock clicked. And the door opened a few inches -- just enough for a dark eye to glare out. “Go away, Henry.”

“Awww, come on, don’t be like that,” the mage whined. 

“She’s sleeping.”

“So? I wanna talk to you.”

The woman’s eye narrowed. “Why?”

“Because you seem kinda lonely. I thought maybe you needed a friend.”

“I told you, friendship is overrated.”

“And I said you needed better ones. And I’m a great friend! Robin thinks so, too!”

The woman rolled her eyes. But, after a moment, she relented, opening the door wide enough for Henry to slip through -- and Chrom after him, an instant before it closed. “You have five minutes to convince me this isn’t a waste of time,” she warned. 

“You got it!” Henry giggled, tilting his head toward the far doorway. 

The prince did not hesitate. Stepping lightly, Chrom made his way deeper into the suite of sparsely furnished rooms, searching for any trace of Robin’s presence--

There. 

The last doorway led to a bedchamber. And that was where she lay, curled into herself and looking more tired in sleep than he had ever seen her awake, even after Henry’s failed experiment. Sitting beside her, he smoothed the pale hair away from her face, leaning close to call her name as he gently shook her shoulder.

...but she did not stir. He tried again, and still she did not rouse -- only the warmth of her cheek under his fingers and the rise of her chest as she breathed convinced him that she still lived at all. “Please,” he whispered. “You have to wake up.”

But if she heard him at all, she did not listen. 

“Awww, come on, Tharja--”

“I said _out._ ”

“There’s no way it’s been five minutes yet--”

Apparently Henry had stalled as long as he could. Removing one of the violet flowers from his shoulder, the prince placed it on the stand by her bedside, smoothing her hair one last time. “I’ll come back for you,” he murmured. 

And then he retreated, slipping past the dark mage and out the open door before the woman shoved Henry out and slammed it behind them. 

“How’d it go?” the pale-haired mage whispered. 

Chrom shook his head. Henry deflated slightly, worrying at his tunic as he turned and started back down the halls. “What do we do now?” he asked. 

“We regroup and try again,” the prince breathed. Until he saw her free, he would try as many times as he had to.

\-----

The dark mage had, much to Chrom’s surprise (and Frederick’s dismay) elected to stay with the Shepherds, first helping them to find a suitable place to set up camp, then settling in by the fire as they turned in for the night.

“Won’t someone miss you if you’re gone too long?” the prince asked come morning, offering Henry a portion of his own field rations. 

“No way,” Henry giggled as he took it. “Nobody even notices me in there.”

“How come?” Lissa asked, flopping down in the sand next to him. “You seem nice.”

“Robin’s dad isn’t about _nice,_ ” he grumbled, sticking his tongue out.

“What’s he trying to _do,_ anyway?” Sully muttered from the other side of the fire. 

“He’s trying to turn Robin into Grima.”

The camp went deathly silent. Henry looked around in confusion as he gnawed on his hardtack. “What?”

“He’s trying to raise the fell dragon?” Frederick prompted. 

“I think so,” the dark mage nodded.

 _“Why?”_ Stahl asked. 

“I dunno,” Henry shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know about the specifics or anything, but he’s the head of the Grimleal, and...wait, wait, let me start over, I learned this in school. Okay, so Plegia’s a...what’s the word? It’s...it’s where the king is picked by the gods, and there’s a word for it...”

“Theocracy, I believe,” Miriel supplied. 

“Yeah, that! Well, Plegians worship Grima, so our king is supposed to be picked by Grima. And...well, Robin’s got a little purple mark on the back of her hand with six eyes, which is Grima’s mark, and she said she’s always had it, plus she turns into a little baby Grima, so...I think what her dad is trying to do is bring Grima back to take over so that _he’s_ in charge for real instead of just picking someone to rule for him? I don’t know, it’s weird.”

“So, wait -- are you telling me your girlfriend’s supposed to be the fuckin’ queen of Plegia?” Sully demanded. 

“Is she a princess?” Chrom asked. 

“...I never really thought about it. But yeah, I guess,” Henry giggled. “...her dad doesn’t treat her like a princess, though. He doesn’t even treat her like a _person._ And he made her put that stone on that turns her into a little Grima, and she _hates_ it but he doesn’t even care, he doesn’t want _Robin,_ he wants _Grima,_ and he’s trying to _erase_ her to get what he wants.”

The dark mage sniffled and scrubbed at his eyes. Lissa scooted a bit closer and offered a lacy handkerchief, which Henry accepted after a moment's pause. “She means a lot to you, huh?” the princess said. 

“She’s my family,” Henry agreed. “I didn’t have anybody before her. And then I got appointed to take care of her, and we got to be friends, and...I was supposed to be taking care of her, but she started taking care of me, too. I really like her. It’s not about what she looks like outside, it’s about how she’s always Robin on the inside. And I’m really scared of losing her.”

“We’re here to keep that from happening,” the prince assured him.

“What’re we gonna do, though?” the dark mage asked, accepting the biscuit Lissa offered him. “Tharja wouldn’t leave last night, and Robin wouldn’t wake up when you tried…”

“I don’t know what we can do about Tharja,” Chrom mutttered. “But we have to try something. Can we go back tonight?”

“Sure, I guess,” Henry shrugged. 

“Is there any way you could make a ward for Robin, the way you did with this?” the prince asked, holding up the pendant. 

“...not unless I’m in there with her,” the mage confessed. “See, I put the ward for you on that necklace, but the one I used on her I put on the stone. It’s what kept her dad from finding us -- it threw off anybody trying to scry for her location, or for the stone. I still don’t get why the ward broke, it was _fine_ the night before, I checked it and everything…”

“...what could make something like that break?” Chrom ventured. 

“I don’t know. Spells like that wear out on their own, especially when they have to shield big things like her changes, but I’ve been keeping it going, recharging it when it started getting a little flimsy, and...it wasn’t like it just weakened and gave out, it was like something broke right through. It happened a couple times when I was trying to get the spell right the first time: when she changed the stone just blew the ward right back.”

The prince’s stomach knotted. “The stone. Does it glow when she changes?”

“Yeah,” Henry agreed. “Why?”

“...I think I broke the ward.”

His sister blinked at him over the dark mage’s shoulder. “How’d you do _that?”_ she asked. 

“I touched the stone. And it glowed and burned.”

“But...why would it do that?” Henry mumbled. “It never did that when _I_ touched it…”

“Because it’s a dragonstone,” Chrom sighed. “And I’m Naga’s blood.”

“...you didn’t mean to, though. Right?” the dark mage prompted.

“Of course not! If I’d known what would happen I never--”

“It’s okay, then.”

The prince paused, staring at Henry as he crunched away at his breakfast. “Even though all of this is my fault,” he said, gesturing broadly at the desert around them.

“It was a mistake. It happens,” the mage shrugged. “And you’re here to fix it, right? So it’s okay. I mess up all the time, but as long as I try to fix things and don’t make the same mistake twice, there’s always room to forgive.”

“...thank you, Henry,” Chrom smiled. And the dark mage grinned back, looking for all the world like a carefree child with crumbs scattered across his tunic. In spite of all Henry’s oddities, the prince really had missed him.

The rest of the day passed in quiet preparation. Lissa took it upon herself to introduce Henry to everyone in camp, which went better than Chrom would have expected: despite their initial misgivings, the Shepherds took quickly enough to the cheery mage and his terrible jokes. Even Frederick softened slightly when Henry took an interest in the great knight’s training regimen (though the dark mage’s remark about Frederick putting in _hex-_ tra effort might have made things worse, the prince wasn’t entirely sure). 

As twilight fell, Chrom found Henry rummaging around in the camp supplies, humming as he set things aside in apparently haphazard piles. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Frederick’s going to have a fit if he sees this--”

“Here it is!” the dark mage crowed, holding up what looked like an arrow. “Oh, wow, _neat!_ What’s this thing even made of?”

_“Unhand that!!”_

The prince jumped as Virion stormed over, grabbing for Henry’s prize even as the mage ducked behind Chrom. “But I need it!” 

“That is an heirloom of House Virion!” the archer snapped, scrambling to catch the Plegian. “It was crafted from the wood of the Mila Tree itself -- unhand it at _once!”_

“But I _really really need it!”_ Henry protested from under the prince’s cape. _“Please?_ I just need to borrow it for a little while, I promise!”

“To do _what?”_ Virion demanded, planting his hands on his hips. 

“To make a hex with--”

 _“You will do no such thing!”_ the archer squawked. 

“Henry,” Chrom sighed. “What do you have in mind?” 

“I dunno yet,” the mage shrugged. “But this’ll make one _hex_ of a curse!”

The prince pinched the bridge of his nose. “Focus, Henry.”

“I am focusing! Stuff like this is _great_ for hexes! Things you can get anywhere, like scorpion bits and seeds and things, they don’t last long -- you can only get one decent spell out of ‘em before they’re done. But something special like this is _really_ strong, it’ll make a _super_ hex and then some!”

“What _kind_ of hex?”

“I dunno yet! I mean, I can think of a _bunch_ of things to do with it, but I don’t know which one I wanna do yet…”

“Is it something that would _help?”_ Chrom stressed. 

“Of course! I wouldn’t just take it and _play_ with it, that’s _rude._ That’s like not asking before hexing someone.”

The prince had a feeling Henry had done that many times in the past. And likely been reprimanded for it. “You need to ask Virion,” he sighed. 

The dark mage peeked out from under Chrom’s cape again, still holding tight to the arrow. “Can I please borrow it? Just for tonight?”

The archer sighed, running a hand through his hair as he fixed his attention on the prince. “If it might be of some assistance in averting calamity, I suppose...there would be little harm in entrusting it to you for _one_ evening.”

Henry beamed, bouncing out into the open again. “Thanks! I promise, I’ll bring it back in...no more than three pieces.”

 _“ONE piece!!”_ the archer insisted frantically as the mage scampered away. 

“I’ll keep an eye on it,” Chrom promised, hurrying off after Henry’s shadow. The mage seemed to have no trouble moving over the sand, while the prince struggled to make headway following Henry’s winding trail; he finally managed to catch up just as his guide opened the well-concealed passage into the palace. Slipping the pendant on again, Chrom let the mage lead the way up the twisting stairs and through the labyrinth of corridors to Robin’s door.

“Hey, Tharja!” Henry laughed. “I know you’re in there!”

“Go away.”

“Awww, come on! Didn’t we have fun last night?”

“No.”

“We didn’t?”

“Not in the least.”

“Oh. Well, maybe we can do something else tonight. Want to play a game?”

A pause. And then the door opened a crack. “What kind of game?” the woman asked. 

“Hex-off!”

Tharja’s smile sent chills down Chrom’s spine. “That does sound like a fun game,” she purrred, opening the door wider. “What are the stakes?”

“I wanna see Robin if I win.”

“And if _I_ win, I want you to leave.”

“Deal!” Henry nodded, plucking a strand of his own pale hair and offering it to the woman as she did the same with her dark locks. “On three?”

“Three.”

Both immediately began to pull an unnerving array of vials, pouches, and wrapped parcels from their cloaks and sashes. The prince took a wary step back as Henry took up Virion’s arrow, humming as he poured a dark, viscous liquid over the shaft. Arranging a few scales and feathers around it, the mage wound the hair from fletchings to point before reciting his incantation. And then he grinned, bouncing to his feet with the arrow in hand. “Done!” he cried, pointing the tip toward the floor. Chrom looked at the woman, still hunched over her own work--

She began to float. 

Tharja seemed to notice that fact at the same instant the prince did, snatching for her items and only managing to scatter them across the floor as she rose steadily toward the ceiling. “Do I win?” Henry teased. 

“Alright, _fine,_ ” the woman growled, pressing her palms to the stones overhead to keep from floating any higher. “I concede.”

The dark mage giggled as he flipped the arrow over, watching as Tharja settled back down on the floor before discarding the dark strand of hair and tucking Virion’s heirloom back under his cape. “Sooooo?” 

The woman rolled her eyes as she stepped aside. While Henry collected the rest of his materials, Chrom slipped into the rooms beyond, picking his way toward the furthest chamber…

She was there. Asleep, seeming smaller than he remembered for how tightly she curled into herself. Kneeling by her bedside, the prince smoothed the hair away from her face, leaning close enough to rest his forehead against hers. “Please. You have to wake up, Robin,” he breathed. Even if she wouldn’t see him when she woke, she should be able to hear his voice, to feel his touch--

“You don’t have to _babysit_ me, Tharja.”

“You’re not even supposed to _be_ here, Henry.”

“But you don’t have to follow me around. It’s not like I’m gonna _do_ anything.”

“I have my orders. It’s bad enough that I let you in.”

Chrom pulled back as Henry scrambled into the room, crawling up onto the bed next to Robin and shaking her shoulder, more energetically than the prince had dared the prior night. And even that did not rouse her. “...what’s wrong with her?” the dark mage asked, turning to the woman leaning against the doorway. 

“Nothing’s _wrong_ with her,” Tharja replied defensively. 

“She’s not waking up,” Henry pointed out. “That seems pretty _wrong._ ”

“Why are you trying to wake her up?”

“Because I wanna talk to her.”

The woman shrugged. “She’s been sleeping through the night lately. Validar’s been quite pleased. I don’t see why it’s a problem.”

“I just wanna talk to her.”

Tharja rolled her eyes. “I’ll give her a message when she wakes up, then.”

“It’s not the same,” the mage protested.

“Why not?”

“Because she’s my friend.”

The woman sighed. “Then say what you want and I’ll _remind_ her in the morning if she doesn’t remember.”

Henry thought about that for a moment. And then he turned to Robin, folding one of her hands between his. “I miss you,” he mumbled. “I really, really miss you, Robin. And I really hope you’re alright. And I want you to know that everything’s gonna work out. I know it is. So...so hold on, okay?”

If she heard, Robin gave no indication. She only slept on as the dark mage squeezed her fingers, pulling back and scrubbing at his eyes for a moment before turning a bright smile on Tharja. “And you’ll tell her if she doesn’t remember?”

“Yes,” the woman sighed. “Now you need to leave.”

As Henry made his way out of the room with Tharja at his heels, Chrom hung back a moment longer. The flower he’d left the night before was nowhere to be seen -- had someone else removed it? Or had she found it and hidden it somewhere?

Gods, he hoped it was the latter. 

Removing a second bloom, he placed it carefully in the hand the mage had held, curling her fingers gently around it. “It’ll be alright,” he promised. “Just hold on a little longer.”

He retreated silently, moving out into the hall as Henry paused to thank Tharja one last time. And though she rolled her eyes, he thought he saw a very faint smile touch her expression -- if only for a moment. The door closed before he could be sure, leaving them alone in the corridor. 

“I don’t get it,” the mage mumbled as they picked their way down the dark stairs. “She never sleeps like that. She’s never been a light sleeper, but this is…”

“Like she’s been hexed?” the prince suggested.

“...yeah, actually. Exactly like that.”

Henry said little else as they made their way back to the Shepherds’ camp. Chrom could see Virion pacing as they came into view; as soon as he caught sight of them, the archer marched to meet them, fighting to keep his composure. “You come bearing good news, I hope?”

“Someone’s casting spells on her,” Chrom sighed. “If we can--”

“Yes, yes, but what of my heirloom?”

“Oh, yeah!” The dark mage brightened, pulling the arrow out from under his cape. “Here you go! I was real careful with it.”

“Oh, praise be,” Virion sighed, snatching it back...and frowning as he tested it with his fingers. “What is this?”

“It’s just a little ichor,” Henry shrugged. The archer made a horrified nose, swooning into Cherche’s arms. “...is that bad?”

“You maybe should have cleaned it off first,” Lissa giggled, sidling up to them.

“Oops.”

The prince shook his head, patting the mage’s shoulder. “Next time, right?”

“You bet!” Henry agreed. 

Chrom sincerely hoped that there wouldn’t need to be a next time.

***

There had been a flower on her bedside table when she woke.

Robin had believed for several minutes that she was dreaming. But no matter how she willed it, the world around her would not change from seamless ochre to grey-blue stone. And when she reached a trembling hand out to touch it, the blossom did not vanish or change. Even when she drew it close, stroking the satin petals with her fingertips, it remained light and cool in her hand.

She’d feared then that she was going mad. Tucking it hastily beneath her pillow as the stone began to burn, she suffered through her change in silence, and spent the rest of her day trying to put the matter out of mind.

But come nightfall, as she forced down the bitter draught that was all her father allowed her by night and curled up to sleep, her hand strayed under the pillow and found the bloom just where she’d left it. 

...if she was going mad, she decided, at least it allowed her to see flowers again.

She did not remember falling asleep. The last thing she recalled was holding the little blossom, trying to memorize the way it felt for fear that it might be gone come morning. 

It was pain that roused her.

She tried to twist away and agony seared her senses, her chest constricting as she gasped for breath. Biting back a cry, she fought to still herself, to quiet her panic, to _think--_

“I would tell you not to struggle, but really, I’d much prefer it if you did.”

Robin opened her eyes to find Aversa smirking down at her. “Good morning,” the woman crooned. “Are you excited to greet the day?”

“What do you want?” Robin snarled through gritted teeth.

“Oh, there’s a lot of things I want,” Aversa chuckled. “I want to see your pet strung up, for instance. I want to see the Fell Dragon in all His glory with my own eyes. And I would _dearly_ love to see you disposed of permanently.”

Well, that made two of them.

“What are you doing?” Robin managed to grate out as the woman placed something on her chest, close to the gem that had begun to prickle with the approach of morning.

“Just taking a few precautions,” Aversa replied. “No one’s seen your pet around for a few days, you know. Which means he could be dead.” Robin’s heart twisted at the thought. “But _I_ think he’s planning something. And with things going _so_ smoothly, Master Validar would rather not have a repeat of last time. Oh, I would _love_ to see the look on that boy’s face when he tries to put another hex on you…”

A crushing sense of dread pressed down on her as the woman’s nails traced the scars around the stone. “Stop it.”

Aversa laughed, tapping the gem’s face. “Make me, fellblood.”

Robin’s breath shredded as she tried again to twist away, pain burning under her skin as she willed her body to move -- but all to no avail. Agony replaced every desperate plea she made of her paralyzed limbs while the woman hovering over her spoke a sibilant incantation, the air around her turning hazy as she fixed her curse in place.

“There,” Aversa purred, tucking Robin’s hair back behind her ear with one claw-like nail. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Robin closed her eyes and tried to breathe. A rise would only encourage the woman further. It always had. 

“...I’ll never understand why Grima picked _you,_ of all people,” Aversa sighed into the silence. “A stubborn, ungrateful, scrawny whelp like you wouldn’t even make a decent toothpick.”

“Feel free to take over, then,” Robin grated out. “Clearly you’re much more qualified.”

“Perhaps I should have hexed your mouth shut, too,” the woman muttered. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. By tomorrow night, you won’t have to worry about anything at all.”

“...why?” Robin asked, opening her eyes.

“Because Master Validar will drive the weakness from you and elevate you to true divinity. You should be _grateful._ ”

“I’d rather be dead.”

Aversa sneered, rising and taking something off the stand by the bed. “Just one more night to suffer through,” she called over her shoulder. “Sleep tight.”

For a few moments, Robin lay still, fighting back the bitter tears pricking at her eyes. One more night. And then she would lose everything.

The stone burning in her chest finally roused her. Aversa had, apparently, cut her hex; Robin managed to roll to the floor, joints still aching as she struggled to pick herself up, her fingers twitching around something…

She stopped, opening her shaking hand to find the violet flower.

Laying it gently on the floor, Robin shed her robe before the shadows shredded her body, leaving her trapped again in a form that had never been hers. One that would soon be all she had.

But as her eyes adjusted, she saw the tiny bloom, seeming to glow in ethereal colors as she carefully curled around it. Gods, if this madness was all she had left of her happiness--

“Did you sleep well?”

Robin raised her head slightly as Tharja came into the room, stooping to collect the shift from where it had fallen. And then she tucked her head against her forelimbs, sheltering the flower under her claws.

“I’m amazed you managed to sleep through Henry’s visit,” the sorceress remarked.

**“Henry was here?”**

Tharja glanced up from folding the robe as Robin’s full attention fixed on her. “Last night. And the night before, actually. He seemed quite upset that he couldn’t wake you. He wanted you to know that he missed you, and that everything will work out.” 

Her heart ached to think how wrong he was this time.

**“Will he come back tonight?”**

“I couldn’t begin to guess what he’ll do,” the sorceress grumbled. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.”

**“I’d like to see him.”**

Tharja sighed. “I’ve already told him, repeatedly, that I have orders--”

**“Please?”**

The sorceress glowered at Robin. “Why _him?_ I’d be glad to stay, you know.”

**“He’s more family to me than the man I call my father. I just want to see him one more time. Please, Tharja.”**

“...we’ll see,” she muttered, skulking out of the room. Robin stared after her for a moment, wondering if the sorceress would return.

And when she did not, Robin lowered her head, toying gently with the brilliant flower in her claws.

She did not notice the passage of time. She only felt the stone in her chest burning before the shadows tore her dark form apart, piecing her back together in a huddle on the floor. And still, the blossom remained when she opened her eyes.

Pulling herself up onto the bed, Robin struggled into her loose shift, tucking the flower behind her pillow where she’d pulled it from--

Only to find another.

Drawing her hand back, she stared for a moment at the two blooms in her palm, unsure if she should laugh or cry. Gods, they said Grima went mad in his final days, but she refused to believe this was part of it--

Footsteps. Hastily tucking both flowers out of sight, Robin stumbled to her feet, watching as Tharja made her way into the room with a familiar chalice. “There’s a bath prepared, if you’re so inclined,” the sorceress remarked. 

“Thank you,” Robin murmured. One last small comfort. She had to take it all while she could. 

The water was pleasantly warm, and she took her time in washing and combing through her hair. She’d thought about the motions before, appreciated them, but...the gravity of these final iterations made her heart ache. She would miss this. All of this.

As the heat ebbed from the bath, she stepped out, drying herself and slipping into the light robe. She missed her own clothes. She missed her mother’s coat. She missed Henry. 

She missed Chrom. 

And she couldn’t even say goodbye to him. 

Sitting on the bed, she stared at the cup waiting on the nightstand. It was all she’d have tonight. All she’d be allowed. And she knew full well that it would steal away her last moments of humanity, replacing them with sleep. 

She lifted it and handed it back to the sorceress standing close by. “Not tonight,” she murmured. “I’d like to see Henry.”

“I told you, I have my orders. And I wouldn’t know where to find him, even if I didn’t.”

“He’ll come,” Robin smiled. And she would be waiting for him, when he did.

***

Gaius had made his way to the courtyard gates to deliver the Feroxi gemstone early that morning. He’d insisted on going alone, in spite of Chrom’s offer to accompany him. As the thief noted, another set of tracks would give their fearless leader away pretty quickly.

He’d returned well after midday, looking disgruntled but none the worse for the wear. “Wouldn’t even give me the time of day,” Gaius muttered. “Guards took the damn thing and shooed me off like a fuckin’ salesman. Do I look like a salesman?”

“No, you look like the fuckin’ candyman,” Sully replied. 

“...eh, guess it’s better’n bein’ a salesman,” the thief shrugged. 

Unfortunately, it meant that they still had no idea what the Grimleal were planning. 

“Do you think she’ll wake up tonight?” Henry asked as twilight settled over the desert. 

“I hope so,” Chrom sighed. 

“What’ll we do if she doesn’t?” The prince glanced over at the dark mage, watching as he pieced through his collection of odd materials.

“...if we can get rid of Tharja, could you hex the stone? Something like mine, just to get her out, and then something to keep her from being found?” Chrom suggested. 

“...I don’t know if I can make another ward like that.”

“What? Why?”

“It...it takes a _life_ to make that kind of spell. And I don’t really want to hurt Tharja. She hasn’t been _bad_ or anything, even if she _is_ working for Robin’s dad, and she’s let me see Robin...it would be hard to drag a guard off with us, and her dad would probably catch us before we got too far. I mean, I guess we could put the ward on first, but we’d still have to take a guard or something…”

“...why does it take a life?” the prince asked warily. 

“Well, the whole point of the ward is to keep somebody safe. And if you want to protect one life, you have to take another, so its life shields the one you want to hide. That’s how it works with magic like that.”

“...does it have to be a person?” 

“Nope! I patched the first one up with all kinds of things -- frogs, snakes, birds...I even used a tree, once. She dared me to do it -- I was sure surprised when it worked,” the mage snickered. “It lasted a while, too.”

Chrom touched the last flower at his shoulder. They’d been gone from Mt. Prism for weeks now, and none of them had faded in the slightest… “Would this work?” he asked, offering it to Henry.

The dark mage glanced up from his scales and feathers, taking the bloom and looking it over. “...where’d this come from?”

“Mount Prism.”

“It feels weird,” the mage mumbled, cupping it in his palms. “It’s...it’s little, but it...it feels like it just goes on forever.”

The prince had no idea what Henry was talking about. “Would it work, though?”

“You could do _anything_ with something like this.”

“Could you make a ward for Robin?” Chrom pressed. The mage nodded, slowly at first, then with more fervor. “Then it’s yours.”

“Really?” 

“Of course,” the prince chuckled. “I picked it to give to her. But I think this is more important.”

Henry beamed, holding it out to Chrom again. “You can still give it to her,” he laughed. “And then she can have it forever in the ward.”

Smiling to himself, the prince took the flower back, tucking it back into its place on his shoulder. “Shall we go, then?” he asked. The mage hurriedly bundled his supplies together, tucking them away before offering his best salute. Not as neat as Frederick would prefer, Chrom was sure, but an admirable attempt. 

They made their way across the sands and through the passage hidden in the cliff face, winding through the corridors to Robin’s door. Henry knocked lightly, rocking back and forth on his heels while the prince toyed idly with his pendant…

The door opened, and Tharja immediately stepped aside. “Go on, then.”

The dark mage tilted his head slightly. “Really? What about your orders?”

“My orders include being up much too early for the ceremony tomorrow,” the woman replied. “And she’s been asking after you all day. I’m tired of being bothered. _You_ can deal with her for a while.”

Henry grinned, throwing his arms around Tharja’s shoulders. “Thanks,” he whispered. “This really means a lot.”

“Yes, yes -- please let go, now,” she grumbled as Chrom slid past. He paused to wait as the dark mage finally released the woman, who straightened her cloak before striding out of the room and closing the door behind her.

“...that was unexpected,” the prince remarked. 

“Told you she wasn’t bad,” Henry giggled, skipping his way through the suite. Chrom shook his head, removing the pendant and tucking it away as the dark mage leaned into the bedchamber. “Hey, Robin! I’ve got a surprise for you!”

“I hope it’s not a pun.”

The prince’s heart leapt into his throat. 

“It’s a _hex-_ tra special one,” the dark mage cackled as Chrom moved to stand beside him. 

“Oh, for _Grima’s sake Henry that one was awful--”_

She turned toward the door from her place on the bed...and stopped, eyes wide and wondering as her gaze settled on the prince. 

A heartbeat passed. 

“Chrom?”

He beamed as a smile broke over her face. “I’ve missed you.”

They were the only words he could think of. And for once, he was sure they were the right ones. 

She laughed, scrambling to her feet and racing to meet him. Whatever she might have intended, he did not stop to see -- as soon as she came near enough, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and warm against his chest. “Gods, I’ve missed you,” he whispered again. 

“I’ve missed you, too,” she murmured. “What are you even _doing_ here?”

“Keeping my promise.” 

She drew back after a moment. But the smile she wore looked different. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for...for _everything_ \-- for coming all this way, for trying so hard, for…”

“...what is it?” he asked. 

She shook her head slowly. “You have to go.”

“What?”

His heart twisted as Henry came up beside him. “What do you mean? He came all this way and he brought a bunch of friends to get you out and -- and I have all the stuff I need! I can make another ward--”

“Henry,” she called. 

The dark mage didn’t seem to hear. “It’ll be even _better_ than the first one, it won’t wear out or _anything,_ and--”

_“Henry.”_

He stopped, looking puzzled and slightly hurt as Robin’s fingers clutched at the gem bound to her chest. “Henry, Aversa already hexed it.”

The mage scoffed, bouncing closer to see. “Aw, Robin, you know there’s nobody better at curses than me! I’ll have it snapped off in a jiffy and then we’ll…”

Henry’s voice trailed off as his fingers touched the stone, his confidence draining with the color in his face. “W-what...what is this?” 

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I don’t know what she did. But she knew you were going to try something. She said she wanted to see the look on your face when you did.”

“What’s wrong?” Chrom pressed. 

The dark mage had begun to tremble, his hands raking through his pale hair. “It...it feels like...like it’s reflective. Like it’ll just...just bounce anything back at the hexer. Break it and throw it right back in their faces -- and I can’t...I-I can’t get through it, I can’t…”

Robin hushed him gently, pulling Henry into a tight embrace. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay, Henry, it’s okay…”

“No it’s _not!”_ the mage sobbed. “It’s _not_ \-- I was gonna get you _out,_ we were gonna _save_ you, we’ve _gotta_ save you, Robin, we’ve--”

“It’s okay,” she insisted. “Don’t cry, Henry, don’t cry…”

He didn’t seem to hear her. But she didn’t seem to expect it, either, running her hand over his shoulders as she rocked back and forth on her heels. 

“...what do we do now?” the prince asked. 

“You go,” Robin replied gently. “Take Henry with you. Keep him safe.”

“Not without you,” Chrom insisted. 

“There’s no time anymore.” The smile she turned on him made his heart twist and ache. “Tomorrow...whatever my father has planned, it happens tomorrow. And after that...there won’t be anything left of me.”

“I won’t let that happen--”

“There’s nothing you can _do,_ ” she sobbed. “I can’t run anymore. And I won’t ask you to fight and die. There’s _nothing left._ ” 

“...there has to be something.”

“If there is, I can’t see it,” she murmured, leading Henry over to the bed. The mage crawled up onto it as she sat down on the edge, never once releasing or even relaxing his embrace. The prince followed, sitting by her other side and folding his hands before him. 

“Please don’t think I’m not grateful,” Robin whispered. “I can’t...I can’t thank you enough for coming all this way to keep your promise. And I’m glad I got to see you again. There’s no one I’d rather spend my last night with.”

“Don’t talk like that,” the dark mage mumbled into her shoulder. 

“Don’t worry, Henry,” she smiled. “You’ll be alright.”

“I’m not worried about _me,_ I’m worried about _you,_ ” he whimpered. 

“I get to spend the night with the two people I like best in the world,” she declared. “So what do I really have to be sad about?”

Chrom could think of a great many things. He imagined Henry could, too. 

But the mage peeked up at her even still. “You really like me best?” 

“Of course I do,” she laughed, hugging him tight. “I’ve been waiting for you all day, ever since Tharja told me you’d been coming to see me and that I’d already missed you twice. I can’t believe I slept through your visits.”

“You missed _both_ of us,” Henry corrected.

“...exactly _how_ have you been sneaking an _Ylissean prince_ into a _Plegian palace?”_

“With a very interesting hex,” Chrom chuckled. 

“That does sound like Henry -- he’s...what was it? _Hex-_ traordinary?”

“Don’t _you_ start,” the prince warned, even as the dark mage buried his giggles in Robin’s shoulder. “...I brought you something,” he added, removing the last flower from his shoulder and offering it to her.

She stared at the violet bloom for a moment, touching the petals hesitantly. “... _you_ left them?”

“I hoped they might help keep your spirits up,” he confessed.

“And I thought I was seeing things,” she laughed. “But there’s not much I’d rather see, if I were losing my senses.”

Chrom smiled, tucking the flower gently behind her ear. “It wasn’t just your mind playing tricks on you,” he assured her. “And neither is this.”

“Says the man who could be a figment of my imagination,” she teased. 

“She has a point,” Henry piped up.

“We’re real!” the prince protested. 

“Gee, how do we prove it?” the mage mumbled. 

“It’s a good question,” she chuckled. “But real or not, you’re still the best company I could ask for.”

“We are real,” Chrom repeated, slipping his arm around her. 

“I know,” she murmured, leaning against him. “I never would have imagined you bringing flowers.”

They spent much of the evening in conversation. Little of consequence, but all entertaining. Henry dozed off as the night wore on, and in the darkest hours before dawn, she finally settled for a moment’s rest...and the prince stretched out at her back, his arm holding her close against him. She seemed smaller than he remembered, as fragile as her namesake, and he felt a swell of anger burn through him at the thought of _everything_ her father had taken from her -- and how little she had left to give, soon to be gone. 

He slept, eventually. And when he woke, Robin still lay curled in his arms, awake but unmoving. 

“What’s going to happen to you?” Chrom asked softly.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I don’t think I’ll ever be me again. Not the way I should be. The way I am now.”

“There has to be something we can do. Some way to stop this.”

She shook her head, her hand settling on the stone. “No way where I survive.”

He thought briefly of Falchion, its glow well-hidden where it lay sheathed by the bedside. But Naga’s warning rang through his mind: if he broke the gem, the backlash would kill her. So he had to find another way. 

She drew a slow, deep breath. “It would be better if--”

“Don’t.”

His arm tightened around her, and she sighed, nestling back against him. “I’ll find a way to free you,” he breathed. “I swear.”

“Even if it means my death?”

“...not if there’s another way.”

She turned toward him, and he sensed her smile through the dark. “I’m glad it was you who accepted the hunt. I’m...I’m so glad I had a chance to meet you.”

The prince drew her closer, sifting his fingers through her pale hair. “I’m not ready to lose you again.”

“Then don’t forget me.”

Henry stirred as Chrom struggled to find his voice. “It’s almost time, isn’t it?” he mumbled. 

Robin nodded, pushing herself upright. The dark mage shifted closer, hugging her as she smoothed his hair. “You’ll be alright, Henry. Chrom will be there with you.”

“But I want _you._ ”

“I know. But this...this is how it has to be.”

The dark mage slid reluctantly off the bed as she stood, carefully removing the flower from her hair and setting it on the bedside table with the others she’d taken from behind her pillow. “...can I stay?” Chrom asked softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

She smiled sadly at him. “I would still rather you didn’t,” she murmured. “But I won’t stop you.”

Rising to his feet, the prince moved to stand before her, pulling her into a gentle embrace. “I want to be with you to the last.”

She laughed, a sound equal parts mirth and sorrow. And then she stretched up, her arms curling around his neck as she pressed her forehead against his. 

“I love you.”

He had no time to react. No time to respond. Even as he reached for her, she pulled away, turning her back to him as she shed her simple dress. He saw the stone’s violet glow through the dark, velvet ribbons of shadow swirling around her form…

...and as they dispersed, a dark shape loomed where she had stood, sinking to the ground in the next moment as her legs gave way. Henry curled an arm around her neck, stroking her scales as her six eyes fixed on Chrom’s face. 

**“And now you have seen all of me.”**

The prince shook his head, kneeling before her and laying a hand gently on her scaled cheek. “This isn’t you. And I’d already seen who you really are.”

Her great head tilted into his touch. 

“...we have to go, don’t we,” Henry asked, pressing closer against her.

**“Yes. As far as you can, before someone comes.”**

The mage sniffled, hugging her tight as Chrom took to his feet. Tapping Henry’s shoulder, the prince helped him up, moving through the shadows to stand in the doorway. And there they paused, looking back at the soft glow of her eyes watching them through the dark. 

**“Take care and be safe, both of you. Goodbye, Henry. Goodbye, Prince Chrom.”**

“I’ll miss you, Robin,” the mage sniffled. 

“We’ll see you again,” Chrom said. 

He thought her dark form smiled. But she said nothing more, lowering her head to her forelimbs as they moved toward the hall. 

“...what’re we gonna do now?” Henry whispered, scrubbing at his eyes. 

“The only thing we can do,” the prince replied, slipping the heavy chain over his neck. “Do you know how to get to The Dragon’s Table?”

“W-well, sure, but…”

“Tell me everything you need. Tomes. Materials. Anything.”

Henry looked up at him as they moved into the dim light beyond her rooms. “What are we gonna do?” he asked. 

A fierce grin twitched across Chrom’s face. “We’re going to stop a ritual.”


	9. The Broken Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day has come. As Robin's final hour draws near, the Shepherds make a bold assault on The Dragon's Table -- but with the tide of battle against them, Chrom is forced to make a terrible choice...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus we come to the lowest point in the story. I hope you're still hanging on to those warm feelings from Chapter 4...you're going to need them.
> 
> This is a short chapter! Just perspective breaks (*) this time around. 
> 
> And thank you once again to **[AcquaSole](archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole)** for all of the encouragement and inspiration on this piece -- we wouldn't be here without you!  <3

Robin had always dreamed of being free. Free of confining walls, free of her father’s clutches, free of the curse that plagued her. She had wanted nothing more for longer than she could remember. She had sought it, first aggressively, then desperately, then thoughtfully. With Henry’s support, she had struggled on through days she thought she could not outlast; even in the past weeks, there were moments when the memory of his smile was all that kept her fragile hope from breaking.

But now those dreams were gone.

Attendants filed into her rooms sometime after daybreak. They looked on her in awe and terror as she uncoiled from her place, submitting to their ministrations without much attention. They ornamented her horns and limbs with gold, amethyst, and onyx, bands and chains shimmering in the low light with every tilt of her head. They polished and oiled her scales, a curiously uncomfortable sensation that she nonetheless endured. They presented her with heaping trays of raw meat, still bloody from the recent butchering, and she turned away in unconcealed disgust -- not that any of them could recognize it.

And as they backed away, Aversa slid out of the shadows, grinning as she tapped a wicked nail against her cheek. “You clean up quite nicely, fellblood. You almost look presentable.”

**“A shame the same can’t be said of you.”**

Robin fixed half her attention on the scowling woman, whose usual feathered robe had been replaced by something more traditional (though no less revealing). Tilting her head to see beyond her bedecked horns, she noted that gold and garnet glittered in place of Aversa’s usual obsidian ornaments. This was to be a very big day indeed.

“Has everything been done?” the woman asked the attendants.

“Yes, Lady Aversa,” they replied in unison.

“Perfect.”

Part of Robin dearly wished the woman would slip up somehow. Step too close, or move out from behind the line of men and women kowtowing between them. But they had performed this dance too many times before. Aversa would not leave herself so vulnerable.

“Are you ready to become a god?”

**“Does it matter?”**

“You almost sound like you’re not enjoying yourself.”

**“Fancy that.”**

“I’ll be glad when your gloomy disposition takes a turn.”

**“It would happen much sooner if you’d kindly walk to the top of Origin Peak and fall in.”**

Aversa sneered, lifting a midnight tome from her side. “Charming as ever. I think it’s time we got started.”

Robin considered mentioning, spitefully, the fact that she would not fit through the doors of the room she’d been confined to. But something about the woman’s bearing gave her pause. Her smirk, her confidence…

Robin did not recognize the mark that blazed beneath her feet, blinding her six eyes. But when the light faded, she was no longer indoors. Sand warmed her claws as she stared up at the tower piercing the darkened sky -- it couldn’t be close to nightfall yet, but she saw no clouds overhead--

“Behold, the fellblood. Grima’s heart, returned to His people, to save them from suffering and usher in a new age of peace.”

Her attention focused on her father, standing atop the stairs leading to The Dragon’s Table. He was surrounded by people: sorcerers and mages in traditional garb lined the steps, and all around the spire’s base -- all around _her,_ she realized -- were men and women, on their knees, their expressions awed, fearful, _worshipping…_

A wave of revulsion washed over her. Not for the people around her, but for the form they so revered -- the body she would soon be trapped in permanently.

“Come, fellblood -- ascend to The Dragon’s Table, and claim your birthright.” 

His spidery fingers beckoned her forward.

She did not move.

Robin saw his scowl and opened her jaws in a slight smile. She reveled in that small rebellion, flexing her claws in the sand -- she had no intention of making a foolish charge, but her father’s palpable frustration thrilled her--

“That’s enough of that.”

Aversa’s low hiss cut under the first strains of a hymn rising over the crowd. The mages lining the path lifted their hands, calling forth fire from their tomes to light the increasingly dark way -- and blinding her again to her surroundings.

Someone touched her flank. And without the certainty that it was Aversa, Robin dared not lash out.

Shaking her head, she began to move, the infrequent touches of the people around her guiding her along the way. Her claws brushed against the first stair, and she began to climb, each step tentative as the sorcerers raised their fires higher within the confines of the spiraling tower. 

She stumbled at the top, expecting another stair that did not appear. Slinking forward into the more muted light away from the torches, her vision gradually returned, and she tilted her head back and forth to survey the final landing with grim fascination. Pillars supported the high ceiling around the central altar, the floor inlaid with a beautiful array of stones radiating out from the pedestal beneath the round skylight. Something lay upon the podium, wrapped in a deep violet aura; as she approached, she realized that it was a shield with five great gems set in its silver face. She had never seen its make before…

The stone in her chest pulsed.

Robin froze. The gem flared again, glowing steadily brighter and searing her skin as her claws flexed against the pain -- it was too early for sunset, and even then the stone had never felt like this before, never burned so steadily or so hot...this wasn’t normal, this wasn’t _right_ \-- what was _happening--_

Relief flooded through her as shadows spilled out of the gem, shredding away her dark form and leaving her breathless, huddled on the floor among the ornaments that had fallen away in the change. But the stone still glowed, pain searing through her chest in the steady rhythm of a heartbeat. 

But not in time with her own.

There were people around her again. Hands lifting her to her feet, brushing her hair, helping her into a loose black dress embroidered with gold thread and tiny gemstones…

Something warm and heavy settled over her shoulders.

Robin blinked, running her fingers over the familiar, well-worn fabric, so simple and out of place among all this finery. “My coat,” she whispered, pulling it tight around her.

“Henry asked me to give it to you.”

She blinked up at Tharja as the sorceress placed a golden circlet around her head, the beaten gold feathers prickling at her skin. “Is he here?”

“I haven’t seen him,” the woman muttered. “And he’s not allowed into the tower.”

Robin felt her heart sink as she fastened the brass clasp, her fingers fluttering against the stone at her throat.

“...but he said he would be here,” Tharja shrugged. “So who knows? He could still pop out of the stonework.”

Robin chuckled. “That does sound like Henry.”

“The time has come.”

Her father’s voice echoed chillingly through the pillars. Most of the procession had filed out, leaving roughly a dozen sorcerers in ornate robes, Aversa, and the skeletal figure of her father standing behind the pedestal.

Tharja’s hand touched her arm, guiding her toward the center of the room. Glancing up through the skylight, Robin saw that the sun had gone dark, light spilling around the edges of the black disc. She had read about something like this, hadn’t she? The moon overtaking the sun and turning the world dark…

She stopped before the podium that separated her from her father. Turning to look out over the room, Robin felt a soft pang of regret. There were so many things she would never do now. Sights she would never see with her own eyes, places she could never go, things she would never feel again -- warm arms around her, holding her close in the dark, rocked by the rhythm of his breath…

A faint smile touched her lips.

At least she would not have to regret words left unsaid.

She heard her father chanting over the sorcerers’ hymn. She was close to him now. Closer than she had been in years. She only needed to keep hold of her senses when the change took her back, and she could rend him to pieces--

_“VALIDAR!!”_

The doors on the sides of the room crashed open. The mages scattered, tomes in hand, as armed strangers rushed onto the platform -- and at the forefront, a familiar man with a luminous sword, charging up to meet her…

“Chrom!?”

He darted behind her, cutting away the shadows her father lurked in. As she turned to follow, he grinned at her. “I told you we’d see you again.”

She hadn’t believed him. She hadn’t believed Henry when he said that Chrom brought friends, either. Gods, she had never been so happy to be proven wrong.

“I have a present from Henry, too,” he added, pulling a deep blue-green tome out from under his cape. “He said you’d want it.”

She glanced out over the fray and saw the dark mage next to a girl in a pale yellow dress, beaming and waving excitedly as he summoned a blaze of fire from the bright rings around him. She returned his smile, taking the spellbook and feeling the sudden rush of wind billow around her -- fierce, razor-edged, a blade waiting to follow the arc of her arm and cut down whoever it met…

“Rexcalibur.” Where had Henry even found something like this--

“Get down!”

Chrom’s arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her to the ground. A flash of lightning shot over their heads, shaking the tower as it struck the far wall.

“Fools!” her father roared, another spell crackling between his fingers. “You will not stop what is destined to be!”

She looked up as Chrom stood, offering his hand down to her with a confident smile. “This is not your destiny,” he murmured as he helped her to her feet.

A surge of hope welled up in her heart as she tucked the spellbook close against her chest. “May I lend a hand?” she laughed.

“We’d be glad for the help,” he replied, turning his glowing blade on the shadow of her father as the wind swirled around them.

He’d found another way, after all. And she would not let this chance go to waste.

***

As soon as Chrom told Henry his intentions, the dark mage threw himself at the problem with almost frightening gusto. He took the virtually invisible prince all over the palace, distracting fighters and guards while Chrom snuck past and raided caches of materials he still thought it safer not to ask about. The tomes were the only things he recognized on Henry’s rambled list of necessities -- and while the mage hadn’t been specific about what kinds of spellbooks he needed, the prince still chose a deep red one for Henry...and a green filigreed one for Robin.

The mage seemed very approving of his choices.

They left the palace and headed back to the Shepherds’ camp in short order, and from there made their way out into the desert to a low bluff near the spire rising out of the sands. The sky had already begun to darken by then as the sun turned black, and while Miriel insisted that it was a harmless (if rare) phenomenon, that did not made the sight any less eerie.

A small force of men stood guard around the outcrop Henry guided them to -- but rather than engage in combat, the dark mage gathered the items taken from the palace caches, arranged them in an arrow pointing toward the stones, and spoke a few words while the Shepherds prepared to fight.

The guards fell in unison, and Chrom did not hesitate long enough to ask how or why.

The overhanging rock guarded a pair of doors carved with the fell dragon’s likeness. Pushing past them, the Ylisseans found a large room with steps winding down into the earth; at the bottom, a dark stone tunnel beckoned them onward; and at the end, another spiral stair climbed up out of sight.

The room at the top had two archways. Dividing their forces, the Shepherds proceeded up the final steps to the doors of the ritual site -- and as chanting rose from within, they stormed the altar.

He hadn’t expected to see Robin as herself. But her look of wonder made his heart soar -- and her laughter gave him a surge of confidence.

But it dawned on the prince as he clashed with her father that even now, with Falchion’s power at its peak, he was outmatched. They were all outmatched: glancing out at the fight beyond them, he could see that several sorcerers had fallen, but Libra and Lissa struggled to keep the rest of the Shepherds standing under the assault of a pale-haired woman with violet tattoos. And even with Robin’s magic at his back, he could not find an opening to strike at Validar, forced on the defensive as the man’s magic parried his every blow.

Stepping back and readying another strike, Chrom heard Robin gasp. He chanced a glance at her over his shoulder -- and saw the gem’s glow pulsing in the low light. 

They were almost out of time.

His chest tightened. Turning his attention back to Validar, he met the man’s sneer with a snarl as he lunged, Falchion clashing against crackling magic and making no headway.

“Did you really imagine that you could defeat me?” the man hissed.

“I didn’t come here to defeat you,” the prince growled. “I came here to save her.”

Validar’s expression warped. Shoving the sorcerer away, Chrom pulled back, grabbing Robin and leaping aside as another blast of magic shook the room. His sword clattered on the stones as they stumbled and fell, and he grabbed for it as Robin tried to struggle back to her feet.

“You have to get out of here,” he heard her plead as he pulled her back down against him. “Go, while you have a chance -- I’ll hold them back--”

“No.”

“Chrom, it’s too late! There’s nothing else we--”

She stopped, looking down Falchion’s length as he held its point against the gem’s face. The blade bit deep into his hand where he gripped it, blood dripping onto the glowing facets and making the stone shine all the brighter next to his sword’s own light.

“I promised I would free you,” he whispered. 

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, tears in her eyes as she smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

He dragged the blade down, its tip ringing against the stone’s surface.

A scream rose from somewhere nearby, underscored by Validar’s furious roar.

She writhed in pain, and he tightened his grip as she pressed back against him, feeling something powerful rippling around him, _through_ him, along the blade…

The Heart of the Moon shattered.

And his own heart with it.


	10. And Soft Decree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stone has broken. The ritual has failed. But in the shattered wreckage of the altar, there is still hope for a happy ending...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Chapter 9 marked the lowest point in the story...that means that in Chapter 10, the only way left to go is up -- and hopefully this finale will lift us up out of the sea of despair and sailing off on good feelings again. <3
> 
> This isn't quite as short a chapter as last time, but still, we just have perspective breaks (*) this time around. 
> 
> And thank you once again to **[AcquaSole](archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole)** for all of the encouragement and inspiration on this piece -- I hope you've enjoyed this crazy roller coaster of a story!  <3

Everything went very quiet. Henry stared at the people in the middle of the room, waiting for someone to move.

No one did.

But as the sun started shining down through the skylight, Robin didn’t change.

Picking himself up, the dark mage scrambled through the rubble, stumbling on the broken stones and not-quite-falling next to Chrom. Henry glanced at the bloody sword on the ground next to them, the deep cuts in the prince’s hand, the little red flecks on Robin’s chest among the shards of black stone…

“Robin?” the dark mage called. 

She didn’t answer. He reached out to shake her shoulder, and she didn’t react. Like when she was asleep, only...she didn’t move quite right. “Robin, wake up,” he pleaded, shaking her again. And she still didn’t answer, not even when he patted her cheek, and why did she feel so cold…?

“I’m sorry, Henry.”

The dark mage looked up as Chrom curled closer around Robin, wrapping his arms a little tighter around her. “I tried...I tried, but I couldn’t…”

He was crying.

Henry looked at Robin again, lying too still and too quiet against the prince. And at Chrom, holding her tight, even though she wasn’t moving at all.

Something icy cold slid down his spine.

He heard footsteps coming up behind him, and the prince tried to move away, grabbing at his sword with his bloody hand and still not letting go of Robin. “What have you done!?” Validar snarled.

The dark mage felt something twist and break in his chest.

And then he started to burn.

He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. Not since he was little, and the hunters killed his only friend. He’d come close when Robin tried to throw herself at the knights -- but she’d stayed. She’d stayed, and the fire died down.

But now she was gone.

He felt the magic welling up around him as he grabbed his tome, bounding to his feet and whirling to face the monster stalking toward them. “What did HE do!? This is YOUR FAULT!!” Henry screamed, heat billowing under his cape as flames poured from the circles around him, sending the shadow staggering back. “This is YOUR FAULT for NEVER thinking about her! She NEVER WANTED THIS, she just wanted to be HER, and you NEVER LET HER ALONE, you NEVER LET HER BE _ROBIN,_ and now Robin’s _GONE_ and it’s _ALL YOUR FAULT!!!”_

He was burning. Inside and out, there was just fire and hate and rage and flame and _he would see that man dead for what he did to her he would see him burn until there was nothing left not even ash or dust or a smear of soot on the stones he would BURN--_

Lightning flashed through the inferno, cutting deep into Henry’s side.

It didn’t hurt for a few seconds. He just felt surprise at the blow, stumbling back a few steps as the smell of burnt cloth and scorched meat overwhelmed him. It took another moment, as the pain started sinking in, for him to realize that those smells were coming from him.

“Worthless _wretch,_ ” Validar hissed, his scowl flickering through the blaze as it weakened. “How _dare_ you speak to me that way -- you’ve been a thorn in my side at every turn, you miserable whelp, and I will _wipe you away with the rest of these fools--_ ”

“Henry…?”

His chest went tight at that little voice.

“Robin?”

He turned to look back and saw her head tilt. Saw her eyes open. And he beamed, even as his knees gave out, when her hand reached out for him.

She was okay.

It was gonna be okay, after all.

***

Robin’s senses returned slowly. Pain, first. A deep ache in her breast, keeping time with her heartbeat. Then pressure. Something wrapped secure around her chest, holding her tight. Then movement, a gentle rocking as something behind her breathed. Then warmth, familiar, close...and the heat of flames, too near, too hot.

She could hear Henry.

Robin struggled to move, to find her voice and her strength. It seeped back, in fits and starts: a twitch of numb fingers, a wordless noise under her breath...but it did come. A weak call, too soft to even be sure he heard as she fought to open her eyes--

“Robin?”

Henry’s voice. But it sounded wrong: shaky, too unsteady…

She blinked, her head tilting heavily toward the dark mage. He was smiling. Wreathed in flames, he was smiling, one hand pressed against the scorched wound torn in his side--

He collapsed, and panic surged through her.

“Henry!!”

Fighting to stand only made her fall. So she crawled through the dying fire around him, pulling the dark mage up against her with all the strength she could muster. “Henry? Can you hear me?”

The mage smiled a little brighter, his trembling fingers curling around her hand. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “You’re really okay.”

A low, cold laugh rose beyond the shadows.

Robin tensed, pulling Henry closer as her father moved out of the dark. “I never should have doubted you, dear fellblood,” he crooned. “Grima’s divine blood would never allow you perish so easily. Even without the stone, the ritual will be completed -- and these fools will be a fitting sacrifice to lay upon your table...starting with that one.”

Lightning crackled between the man’s spidery fingers as she tensed her grip on Henry, trying desperately to pull him away. The mage struggled to help, pushing back against her -- but even as she braced him, lightning arced through the air…

A shadow darted in front of them, and the spell scattered into sparks.

Robin blinked as Chrom stumbled back under the force of the blow, falling to one knee behind the silver shield on his arm -- the one she’d seen on the pedestal, glowing now with a soft silver light. “Are you alright?” he asked. She nodded mutely, and he smiled, curling his free arm around her shoulders as he drew closer to protect them from the next volley.

“We can’t hold out like this,” she murmured.

“I know,” the prince agreed. 

Her father would kill everyone here, given the chance. Every man and woman: these people who had come to help free her, his own sorcerers, Tharja, Henry, Chrom…

She couldn’t let that happen.

“Henry,” she called gently, patting his cheek. He mumbled, pressing closer against her as his hand fisted against the wound in his side. “Henry, come on. I need your help.”

“...with what?”

She smiled at the mage as he peered up at her. “I need your fire magic.”

He offered the tome in an unsteady hand, and she shook her head, pressing it back toward him. “Not the book. _You._ My father won’t stop until he has what he wants, unless we stop him ourselves. And I can’t do it on my own. Will you help me?”

Henry grinned, a trace of color rising in his ashen face. “Of _curse_ I will.”

“That’s the spirit,” she chuckled, hugging the mage tight before pulling his arm across her shoulders. “Do you think you can hold him off a bit longer?” she asked, looking to Chrom as she gathered her feet under her.

“I’ll be your shield,” he nodded.

Standing slowly, Robin felt the air begin to swirl around her, filled with sparks from Henry’s spell. The prince held strong, blocking another assault and sending a shower of violet embers scattering across the broken stones at their feet. “Are you with me, Henry?” she whispered.

“I’m with you, Robin.”

The fire roared to life, twisting in the rising wind. She touched the tome tucked against her chest, its power singing through her as she called up the gale, every gust a blade edged with flame.

Robin breathed. Memories flitted through her mind’s eye, charged with feeling: the comfort of Henry’s companionship, the joy of casting a spell for the first time, the thrill of her first escape, the awe of her first steps in Ylisse...the confusing roil of emotions as Chrom’s arms held her, the elation of seeing him in her palace rooms, the sudden surge of _hope_ when he appeared at the altar…

All things her father would have denied her. All things he would destroy, here and now, if they could not defeat him.

The wind howled as her resolve quickened, stoking the blaze into an inferno. Sweeping her arm out, she let the flaming gusts fly, their paths arcing wide around the prince and striking the monstrous shadow beyond. 

The first blade staggered him, sending his spell crashing through the roof. The second cut deep, bringing him to his knees. The third tore his tome away, and part of his arm with it.

She turned her head, hiding her face against Henry’s hair. She did not want to see the rest. Instead she held tight to her conviction, to her memories, to her happiness that she could not bear to lose. 

“It’s over, Robin.”

Henry’s voice quieted the maelstrom. And when she looked up, Chrom’s smile met her, his arm curling close around her as he lowered his shield.

“You’re free,” he murmured.

And deep down, she knew that he was right.

***

Chrom had never really stopped to think about what would happen after they freed Robin. He had intended to invite her back to Ylisse, where he could show her everything she’d never been able to see before. He’d expected that things would settle. And maybe he could even offer her a place, somewhere she could live as herself, free of fear -- a place at his side…

But it quickly became clear that there would be no easy, simple end. 

With Validar’s fall, the remaining sorcerers lay down their tomes in surrender. Lissa rushed over to take care of Henry and her brother, and Robin stayed close, leaning against Chrom’s shoulder with the dark mage snuggled up against her side. As the dust settled and the Shepherds prepared to leave, the doors opened on a crowd of mages in ritual garb, their hands raised in a gesture of peace. And when they crossed the crumbling room, they settled on their knees and touched their foreheads to the stones at Robin’s feet.

They called her Six-Eyes. They called her queen. And they begged her to come before her people, to guide them, to take the throne she’d been born to fill before corrupt madmen stole the crown.

“What do I say to them?” she asked. And she turned to the prince as she spoke, her eyes pleading for an answer he did not have.

“Tell them the truth,” he murmured.

“About what?”

“Anything. How you feel. Who you are. You’re free now,” he reminded her, squeezing her fingers gently. “Don’t forget that.”

She smiled. “Keep an eye on Henry for me?”

“I won’t let him outta my sight,” Lissa said. Which just reminded Chrom that he had a lot of introductions to make before the day was over. But Robin still smiled, sneaking out of the dark mage’s embrace and moving toward the stairs leading down to the spire’s base.

The prince followed a few paces behind, just outside the ring of mages that surrounded her. Hanging back in the shadows beyond the tower door, he watched as she stood before the sea of faces, looking as small and lost as Emmeryn had when their father died and the crown fell to her at ten years old.

She hadn’t known what to do, either.

But she’d spoken to her people even still, heartfelt words that had touched Chrom deeply, though the citizens seemed not to hear nor care. And the words Robin spoke, her voice soft but gaining strength, reminded him of Emmeryn’s gentle plea. They would have gotten along well, he thought, as Robin swore to lead the Plegian people as best she could, and bring them the peace they had all been denied so long.

But when her voice at last fell silent, rather than jeers and stones, her people fell to their knees in supplication, a wordless cry rising up into the ever brightening sky.

She was shaking when she made her way back up the stairs. His applause (quiet, given the care he had to take with his injured hand) seemed to catch her by surprise, and she smiled faintly as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Was that alright?”

“I thought it was perfect.”

Robin insisted that the Shepherds be shown the utmost respect: without them, Validar would have seen the nation destroyed under the guise of reviving the fell dragon. No one could find fault with that argument. And in her company, information slowly reached them: the Plegian army had fallen under the might of Ferox’s warriors, the Mad King himself cut down by the khans’ blades. The remaining forces, led by a General Mustafa, had laid down their arms upon Gangrel’s death and were even now returning to the capital with Ferox’s treaty terms. 

Through all of it -- the missives, the briefings, the meetings -- Robin wore a look of well-concealed panic masquerading as interested attention. Which was better than how Chrom had handled his sudden rise to power. There was just too much to take in, even for someone brought up around it -- but he couldn’t help admiring her composure.

Still, he wasn’t surprised when she disappeared sometime late in the evening after the bustle of activity finally settled down. Wandering his way up and down the castle halls, the prince finally found his way out onto a narrow balcony overlooking the dark sands -- and there she was, hands folded on the pale stone railing as she stared out into the night.

“I was wondering where you’d gone off to,” he murmured, joining her in the cool air and leaning against the balustrade.

“I needed a moment to breathe,” she sighed. “This is...not what I expected would happen if I managed to outlive my curse. It’s all happening so fast, and…”

“You don’t know what to do.”

“It’s not like I was trained for this,” she muttered. “I wasn’t trained for _anything._ I only know magic because Henry taught me, and even that we had to do in secret because my father didn’t want me to have enough power to fight back.”

He reached out, gently touching her fingers. “He’s gone now.”

“I know. But that doesn’t erase everything he did.”

Glancing over, he saw her lift a hand to the scars on her chest, feeling for something that was no longer there. And that, at least, brought the ghost of a smile to her face.

“So what will you do now?” she asked.

“Go back to Ylisse,” he replied, fussing with the bandages Lissa had wrapped around his injured hand. “I’ve left the halidom waiting for too long now. I have to step up to rule, too, now that my older sister’s gone.” And with the Fire Emblem back in his hands, he could be officially crowned as exalt -- though the title fit him poorly, in his own reckoning…

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Putting you through all this.”

“...you have nothing to apologize for,” he smiled.

“But your sister--”

“Whether I met you or not, Gangrel would have tried to kill her. And without you, I might have died, too. The raider camp you destroyed -- I think they were assassins. And if they’d arrived like they were supposed to...who knows what might have happened?”

She said nothing for a long moment, seeming to mull over the possibilities as she looked out over the desert. But eventually she shook her head, rubbing her hands together to warm them against the gradually deepening chill. “I suppose that’s true. But after everything you went through--”

“I don’t regret a moment of it.”

She turned toward him, her brow knitted over a curious frown. “Even though you were hurt?” she noted, shooing his fingers away from the loosened bindings.

“I doubt this compared to what you went through,” he replied as she stepped closer, unwinding the linens slightly further before carefully wrapping his hand again. “And I’m glad I met you.”

She smiled up at him, and the warmth that kindled in his chest pushed back the cold. “I’ll miss you, when you go,” she admitted, settling back against the railing. “This has all been so strange. Going from a cursed monster to a Plegian queen within a day...gods, none of this seems real. And if it is...I don’t think I’m ready for it yet.”

He moved closer, leaning his shoulder against hers. “Come with me, then.”

“What?”

“Back to Ylisse,” he continued, grinning as she stared up at him. “I don’t know the first thing about ruling the halidom. And you’re worried about taking over here. So come with me. We can learn together -- and I can show you all the things I couldn’t before. I bet there’ll be snow by the time we get back.”

“...why would you do that?” she asked. “You already kept your promise to free me, you’ve no obligation to do more.”

“I know,” he agreed. “But I’m still not ready to lose you. Even if it’s just to distance.”

“...why?”

He smiled, lifting a hand to her cheek as he touched his forehead to hers. “Because I love you, too.”

And speaking those words, he finally knew what the warmth in his chest truly meant.

***

Robin still wasn’t sure whether anything that had happened was real. It all seemed too strange. Too _unbelievable._ The disruption of the ritual, the loss of the stone, the death of her father...being addressed as queen, called before the Plegian citizens, overwhelmed by the baffling flood of information…

But Chrom’s words, most of all.

Before she could take it in, the balcony was crowded with people -- a great knight chiding the prince for wandering off without informing him, several rather elderly men badgering her about the same -- and they traded apologetic looks as their processions pulled them in opposite directions. She glanced back once before they rounded a corner...and she thought she saw Chrom smile as he looked over his shoulder toward her.

Her heart swelled with warmth, and she let the men guide her to a carefully appointed room -- small and rather simply furnished, for which they apologized profusely, but the royal suite was (as they put it) decorated to suit the former king’s macabre tastes. She decided she didn’t want details on that, and insisted that the room was fine. Certainly more pleasant than her bare suite in the palace below.

But she found sleep hard to find, and fleeting when it came. She woke before dawn from restless dreams, reaching for the stone at her throat…

...and stopped when she felt only scars. No cool facets. She pressed her palm to the marks, hardly daring to breathe -- but there was only warm skin beneath her shaking hand.

A thrill went through her. Creeping from her bed, she slipped out into the hall, only to be startled by the armed guards outside her door...who bowed to her without barring her way, instead falling into step behind her as she wandered to the infirmary where Henry had been taken when they arrived from the tower. The lancers thankfully did not accompany her inside, and she made her way quietly to the cot by an open window looking out over the dark sands.

“Henry?” she murmured, sitting down on the edge of the narrow bed. The dark mage made a small sound, turning toward her and snuggling close when she smoothed his unruly hair. “Now, is that an ‘I’m awake but don’t want to be’ noise, or an ‘I’m still asleep go away’ noise?”

“I don’t wanna be awake,” he mumbled.

“Did I wake you up?”

“No, that did.” Flopping into her lap, he pointed vaguely at his side before snuggling in. “Is it almost time?”

“I don’t know,” she laughed, her fingers fluttering against her chest. She felt no prickling, no burning, even as she looked toward the light touching the horizon. 

Henry thought about that for a moment. And then he peered at her through the dark, struggling to sit up (though he wisely decided to stop before he either hurt himself further or got a stern lecture from Robin). “It’s really gone?”

She nodded, hugging him tight as he pressed closer. “It really is.”

“You’re free?”

“Thanks to you,” she murmured. “I’d never have made it without you, Henry.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he whispered back. “I’m really, _really_ glad you’re okay.”

Silence fell comfortably over them again as she settled in, piecing through Henry’s pale hair as he nestled against her side. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d known this kind of calm, unmarred by the looming threat of her change…

“Do you think it’s gonna be a good day?” the mage murmured.

Looking at the brilliant bands of color painting the horizon over the red disc of the sun, she laughed. “I think it’s going to be a wonderful day.”


	11. This Is Where You're Meant to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Epilogue**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have, at last, reached the epilogue. Short and sweet (with emphasis on the _sweet)._

There were still mornings -- more than she cared to admit -- when Robin woke before dawn and feared that everything had been a dream. That she would need to rise in short order before the stone’s power tore her apart, stripping away her humanity and leaving her as a shadow of the fell dragon. That her life -- her happiness -- had been nothing more than a fantasy, concocted by her mind as a desperate escape from reality.

But when she touched her breast, she found only old scars. And peace settled over her again as she nestled into the warm arms wrapped around her.

Chrom tucked his nose behind her ear, pulling her closer against his chest. “Good morning, my love,” he murmured.

“Good morning, my love,” she whispered back, cradling Lucina as she turned toward her husband. Their daughter snuggled in against her mother’s shoulder, but did not stir even as her father smoothed the hair away from her face. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very,” he agreed. “And you?”

“Oh, sleep is always a challenge between the cuddlebug and this little one getting restless,” she chuckled, touching the gentle rise of her belly. “But I can’t complain overmuch. It’s certainly warm.”

He smiled, resting his hand over hers. “You could go back to sleep, you know. It’s still early.”

“I’m awake,” she sighed, piecing through Lucina’s hair. “But I don’t see the point of getting up just yet.”

“Good. Because I wouldn’t let you if you tried.”

“Oh, is that so?” she teased, pushing herself up on her elbows.

“Absolutely,” he agreed, curling one arm behind her shoulders and pulling her gently back down into the mattress, both his wife and daughter wrapped up in his embrace. Lucina squirmed a bit, making them both freeze...but she settled soon enough, and they both breathed a sigh of relief.

“So. Boy or girl?” he asked, stroking the soft swell of her stomach.

“You ask me that every day, do you really think my answer will change?” she sighed. “Everyone seems sure it’s going to be another girl, but...I’m rather hoping for a boy.”

“What would be wrong with another girl?”

“Nothing,” Robin shrugged. “But I think it might be nice for Lucina to have a little brother. Speaking from experience as a long-suffering older sister, they can be obnoxious and troublesome, but it’s hard not to love them.”

“Speaking from experience as the little brother, I can agree with all of that.”

She laughed softly as he lay his cheek against her forehead. Settling closer, she smiled as Chrom laced their fingers. “We’re lucky,” she murmured. 

“Blessed, I’d say,” he replied, shifting to press a kiss to the scars on her breast.

“I wouldn’t argue.” She was free. She had a home, friends, love -- a husband, a daughter, a second child on the way...things she’d never dared to dream of, once. Some kind divine had smiled down on her that ritual day, and while things had not been easy in the years that followed, she had found every reason to live on.

He raised his head, touching a gentle kiss to her lips. And she returned it in kind, squeezing his hand as he drew closer--

Lucina giggled.

“And how long have you been awake, young lady?” Robin asked as their daughter hurriedly closed her eyes and pretended to sleep again. “No, you’re not fooling anyone anymore,” she chuckled, pulling her hand free of Chrom’s grip to tickle Lucina’s sides, eliciting a shriek of laughter from the little girl in her arms.

“Save me, Papa!” Lucina giggled, trying to squirm free without success.

“Papa to the rescue,” he laughed, plucking his daughter out of Robin’s arms -- and proceeding to tickle her himself.

With the day well and truly begun, Chrom crawled out from under the warm covers to feed the banked fire -- an old habit that none of the staff seemed able to train him out of and had finally given on, much to his relief. And with that done, he burrowed back under the blankets with Robin and Lucina until the room had time to warm, propping his head on his wife’s shoulder as she took the book from the bedside table and began to read to their raptly attentive daughter.

At the end of the chapter, in spite of Lucina’s pleading for just one more (which they all knew would turn into two, then three, and so on), they finally roused themselves to greet the morning, dressing warmly to stave off the late winter chill that always hung on through the early part of the day. As Lucina worked on fastening her own buttons, Chrom snuck another kiss, cupping Robin’s cheek in his palm before letting his hands settle on her shoulders. “You look lovely,” he remarked.

“You always say that,” she laughed.

“And I always mean it,” he replied solemnly. Rolling her eyes, Robin stretched up and took his face in her hands, touching a teasing kiss to the tip of his nose that immediately unraveled his serious expression into a charming grin.

“I’m hungry,” Lucina announced, still fighting with her topmost button (though Robin was pleased to see that she’d managed the rest perfectly).

“Let’s go see about breakfast, then, shall we?” she asked, crouching down with some difficulty to help her daughter finish the last of her dressing. Lucina beamed as Chrom helped her mother carefully back to her feet, reaching out to them both -- and they each took one of her small hands before leaving to face the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends The Heart of the Moon. 
> 
> I want to say one last thanks to **[AcquaSole](archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole)** for all of the encouragement, support, and inspiration on this piece, which never would have existed without her -- I'm so glad I could create this work for you, and I hope you've enjoyed it through all the ups and downs! And I'd like to thank everyone else for giving this piece a chance, for your kudos and your comments and simply for taking the time to read: it came together so quickly and so powerfully -- it was a joy to write, and while it had low moments when all seemed lost, I hope that this final note leaves everyone on an emotional high.
> 
> At some point in the future, I intend to write a bridge covering the events between the end of chapter 10 and the epilogue. Because the fairy tale narrative at the core of this story has ended (the bridge doesn't deal with curses, but will involve angry dragons), it makes more sense to have the companion piece as a separate entry and link the two as a series, since they directly relate to one another. Just in case anyone is interested. ;) 
> 
> ~~Also, take a peek at the chapter titles in sequence -- they make a little poem! <3~~


End file.
